


I'll stand by you

by devilscut



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ghost Laura Hale, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Nightmares, pre-Season 3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3492041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilscut/pseuds/devilscut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has finally returned to Beacon Hills after the trauma inflicted by the Alpha Pack & the Darach and Stiles is more than ready to give the werewolf hell for up and leaving without a word.  Since he sacrificed himself for his Dad, Stiles has been having very vivid terrible dreams, nightmares really, and when he goes to Derek's loft to deliver a verbal bitch slap to the older man he finds he's stepped into a very different kind of nightmare where the past haunts the living.  Things will never be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lidil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidil/gifts).



> This is for Lidil - in thanks for all those kind and thoughtful comments that are proof that you get me and what I'm trying to say (even if sometimes I'm not too sure myself).
> 
> Sorry its been a while, the start of the year is always a killer for me. Anyway, have you ever had an idea for a fic which won't seem to let you go? I know, I know.. you've heard me say this before and it's true I do get distracted by bright and shiny objects. I haven't forgotten about "The first time" and will be on that asap.
> 
> ** I refer to the "Dead Hour" during the course of this fic which is between 3am and 4am, called this as it's the most common hour for people to die in their sleep in hospital.
> 
> My main sources of inspiration are as per usual music/songs.
> 
> The first is Yann Tiersen's 'Summer 78' - the lyrics aren't clear but it's very haunting and I do tend to think of it as Laura's theme in this fic.
> 
> Where are you now  
> Can't you see me  
> Where are you now  
> Can't you hear me
> 
> Falling, trying  
> Searching, losing (x2)
> 
> I've also found this video on youtube of this song which makes me think of Laura and the Hale pack and before the fire when she's at College with her friends.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3tc1yoB46Y
> 
> The other is The Pretenders 'I'll stand by you'.
> 
> When the night falls on you  
> You don't know what to do  
> Nothin' you confess, could make me love you less
> 
> I'll stand by you, I'll stand by you  
> Won't let nobody hurt you  
> I'll stand by you
> 
>  
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

[Summer 78 by Yann Tiersen (it's the perfect Laura Hale theme)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3tc1yoB46Y)

 

DWOS 9.23pm

_Derek’s back._

 

The text from Scott is so stark in its brevity that Stiles’ breath catches in his throat when he first reads it. 

 

That’s his bestest bro, simply a font of information.  Nothing about why the older werewolf’s back or how long he’s gonna stay, because really who needs that type of info, huh?  Stiles does, that’s who. 

 

After all these years, you’d think his best friend would realise that Stiles needs to be in the know, that he gets a burr up his ass and an itch under his skin if he thinks he’s out of the loop.  But, nuh uh, he gets this lame two word text and no reply to the many he’d sent asking for more deets, probably because Scott’s in the middle of his weird ass on again/off again menage he’s got going with Allison and Isaac and damn it he needs bleach for his brain now because it went **_there_ ** to the forbidden zone of his friend doing hot and unspeakable things with his boyfriend and girlfriend and.. and he needs for his brain to stop and take a moment.  Let him mentally take a breath. 

 

He snorts his disgust at being ignored, but he’s starting to get used to it and it comes out more a half-hearted braying sound, less wild stallion and more Eeyore with the flu.  He’s probably lucky he got the text in the first place, he’s hardly seen much of Scott outside of school over the past few weeks seeing as they’ve been mutually avoiding each other where possible.  Although, from the big brown puppy eyes that Scott casts his way every now and then Stiles is pretty sure that the other boy isn’t entirely sure why that is, unlike Stiles who knows exactly why.

 

Is he bitter and twisted over his best friend’s betrayal when they were fronting the Alpha pack?  He wishes he could say no, wishes he could say that the way he regarded Scott was unchanged and even though he’ll always be the brother of his heart if not blood he can’t deny that seeing him walk away with Deucalion was the biggest kick to the ‘nads he’d ever had in his life, even if Scott insists that it was for the greater good.  Stiles calls bullshit on that load of crock.  So, bitter and twisted it is, with his balls firmly lodged in his throat. 

 

That night changed so many things for Stiles, his perception of himself and his friends and allies.  It’s all turned on its head and Scott’s a brother, but is he still a friend?   Stiles doesn’t know.  He needs time to work it out.

 

As for Derek, that was the biggest shift he’d ever experienced, like tectonic plates and continents moving kinda shift.  The axis that the ‘world according to Stiles’ he’d thought his life was built upon was suddenly tilted and he saw things about the other man that had only been hovering at the peripheral of his understanding before. 

 

Derek, for all his frowny self-aware eyebrows, sharp canines and rumbling threats was a good guy.  It had taken a while before Stiles had actually realised how piss-poor those threats to tear his throat out, maim him or do some other bodily harm to his person were.  If you heard them often enough, without any actual blood being spilled, they lost their power to leave disgusting stains on one’s boxer shorts.

 

When he was trying to survive that God awful night he hadn’t thought about it at the time, was just so damn relieved that Derek didn’t need much convincing that Ms Blake was an evil kidnapping bitch, it didn’t occur to him until much later exactly how fucking sad that is.  That it’s easier for the wolf to believe that she’s a monster than to contemplate he and Scott had gotten it oh so wrong about the woman he’d become involved with. 

 

Although Stiles has his doubts about how real that involvement was.  From some of the things Derek had let slip in the tangled, crazy mess of that conversation between the older wolf and he and Scott, it was clear his memory was hazy and uncertain.  Stiles is pretty sure that Derek had been fucked over by some weird ass druidic magic to get him into the Darach’s clutches.  Not the magic of a Disney fairytale come to life, this was from the dark, cruelty of the Brothers Grimm where lessons were harshly learned and the price paid often unspeakably high.

 

Derek’s face had carried the usual stoic expression that Stiles had come to expect as he tried to remember what she’d done to him, until horrified understanding of exactly how she’d taken away his free will had twisted his mouth into a pained grimace.  Stiles isn’t sure if he’d have been better off turning away right at that moment so he wouldn’t have seen the look that flared bright and panicked in the other man’s eyes, something hurt and vulnerable and worst of all, expected. 

 

Stiles had wanted to smash that acceptance he saw in those beautiful pale eyes, wanted to shake Derek until he cursed and spat, fought like the wild wolf he was over being shafted yet again and that one word was all it took for Stiles’ fists to unclench, his teeth to stop grinding and take a step back.  **_Again_**.  How could he forget that Derek was the protagonist in his own almost Shakespearian tragedy of murder, revenge, deceit and betrayal?                                                                                                                                                                  

 

When would the poor guy stop being life’s punching bag? 

 

When had Stiles decided he cared?

 

The resignation that Stiles witnessed crossing the older man’s face disappeared in an instant, but Stiles couldn’t forget it.  Whenever he recalled it in the days and weeks after, an odd ache settled in his chest and his hands twitched uncontrollably wanting to pat Derek’s arm or shoulder in comfort even though his brain knew that the wolf was gone.  It weirded him out.  The last time he’d done anything like that had been when they’d lost Boyd, totally acceptable under the circumstances.  This time, however, there was no death just one sad and hurting werewolf. 

 

So, Derek’s a good guy and Stiles is kinda freaked out about this bond that had seemed to be cemented into place on the floor of a hospital elevator and in the back of an ambulance when the only certainty seemed to be that death was sniffing around the pack.  Edging closer and closer.  It was starting to feel like they could only count on each other, the puny sarcastic human and the grumpy werewolf, and the more he thought about it the more okay he was with the idea.

 

They’d saved each other before which was awesome, because dying.. yeah it sucked great big hairy balls, but it just didn’t compare to saving the last members of their families and Stiles didn’t know if that was simply a reflection of how little value he and the wolf placed on their own lives or just not being able to face another loss all over again.  He’s pretty sure it’s both, which is how Derek ended up losing his Alpha-mojo and Stiles ended up a severely cranky insomniac.

 

In some respects they were more alike than he’d ever thought possible and he didn’t know whether to be completely terrified, seriously disturbed or weirdly elated at that thought.  He was so confused, it had all been so much simpler when he’d been afraid of the wolf and so angry at him because of it.  It was cut and dried, fear plus hate equalled clarity, a known enemy that he could focus all his antipathy upon.  This, whatever this was, was so muddied with feelings of empathy, compassion and of all things respect that Stiles couldn’t see what lay ahead for them both in terms of what they were to each other, if anything.

 

Stiles swipes his thumb over his phone’s screen to check the text wasn’t a dream, but it couldn’t be because everytime he falls asleep he has the same dream and this sure isn’t it.  He tries not to sleep more than an hour or two at a time, if he does he wakes up screaming.  He doesn’t dream anymore, he endures nightmares.  It was the price he’d paid since he was plunged into an ice bath and had literally died.  Sacrificed for his Dad and that he would not change.  Never, ever.  He’d do it again and again if he had to.

 

The screen lights up.  Yep, there it is the little bubble of a message and its not changed since he last checked it about thirty seconds ago which is when he’d found himself standing outside Derek’s loft door. 

 

So why is he hesitating when the compulsion to find Derek, once he’d received the text from Scott, had been all consuming?  

 

He’d thought he’d gotten over his anger at the Hales for just up and leaving without a fucking word.  Seemed he was wrong.  Rage curdles sourly in his gut waiting to rise up and spew out of him with a vehemence on par with the strange and painful feelings that their abandonment had caused.  He wasn’t a kid anymore and abandonment sounded like he’d been orphaned, but he couldn’t deny the feeling. 

 

Strangely, he doesn’t consider Derek’s leaving as a betrayal, not like Scott turning his back on him and practically walking away hand in hand with Deucalion.  Scott’s actions were calculating, almost pre-meditated to a point, whereas Stiles knew the wolves, considering their history, had run on almost blind instinct looking for a bolthole.  For those who didn’t know his best friend, it was almost too easy to dismiss Scott as maybe not too bright, as little more than a pawn. 

 

No one but Stiles knew that beneath the sweet, goofy nature there was a certain ruthless survival instinct that Scott had acquired as a young boy.  From being caught in the middle of a warzone between divorcing parents, physically  shorter and smaller than most of the other kids in their class, asthmatic to boot and prey to bullies by befriending that weird Sheriff’s kid against all playground advice, Scott was a lot tougher than most.  He could also be pigheadedly stubborn when he believed he was in the right and had a will of iron once his mind was set, but never once had those qualities that had resulted in them being as close as brothers been turned against him.  Until that night.

 

So while not feeling betrayed by the Hale siblings, Stiles was still pissed at them.  He’d saved both of their lives, damn it, and thought that they had ties, ties that would bind them tight and secure in a relationship of sorts.  Maybe friendship or at the very least, that they could openly acknowledge they had each other’s back.  

 

Yet, they’d been able to leave Beacon Hills and him behind without any regrets or goodbyes and it fucking stung.  Stung enough that he’d been operating in a red haze for most of the night and it scared him.  Scared him because he’d obviously been on automatic pilot since about 9.23pm and could barely remember the drive to get here.

 

What he does remember clearly is it being early evening and researching dreams and night terrors on his laptop when his phone started to vibrate with an incoming message.  The nightmares he’s been having are so very real that sometimes he doesn’t even know that he’s dreaming.  They’re centred in his bedroom where he’s trying to close the door before someone or something enters.  Something that whispers from the other side as he’s frantically trying to push it shut, but it won’t close completely.  It’s slightly cracked open, constantly ajar and Stiles can hear harsh whispers asking to be let in. 

 

What scares him the most is that in each subsequent nightmare the whispers are getting closer.  This morning he’d become aware he was trapped in the dream in the dead hour.  Since they started these are the worst ones, the most realistic, so he tries to stay awake between 3am and 4am, but he never can no matter what he does whether it’s setting his alarm, drinking so much coffee until he’s all jittery from the inside out with his skin crawling and his hands shaking or simply staying up and marathoning ‘Criminal Minds’.  It’s like a magic spell, as soon it hits 3am he’s asleep and sucked into a nightmare. 

 

This time it felt like whatever was talking to him was standing just on the other side, mouth pressed to the door and with only the thin wood and Stiles’ shoulder bracing it to act as a barrier.  It’s not asking anymore, it’s demanding to be let in.  Promising not to hurt all the ones he loves if he just opens the door wide. 

 

**_“Let me in Stiles.. let me in..”_**   The voice is strangely accented and thick.  Thick with layers, choking with them, many voices pressed into one.  It rasps and growls with menace, but not like any werewolf he knows.  A werewolf would simply kill you outright, slash your throat to the bone, this sounds like it would devour your soul first.

 

He’d woken up screaming.  Again.   The memory sharp and pungent with remembered fear.

 

**_Thank God his Dad’s on nightshift is Stiles’ first thought as the echo of his wailing, terrified cries hang heavy in the air as he lurches upright in his bed, his fear threatening to strangle him.  His bedroom, normally his sanctuary, was rapidly becoming the place Stiles feared most, streaking way ahead of the nemeton and the hospital and wasn’t that fucking saying something considering the last two were real genuine places of horror for him.  He didn’t know what the hell to think of the monster that lurked in his dreams, in his head, almost afraid to think about it too much in case those thoughts gave it more power over him in his sleep._ **

****

**_He flops weakly back down on the mattress, pulling at the sheet that had tangled and wound itself around his lower limbs, morbidly his mind fixing on the idea that it’s a winding sheet and he kicks at it even harder.  Shivering, he wipes at his wet face with the corner of the sheet, still damp from tears he doesn’t remember crying._ **

****

**_Stiles stays awake until sunlight filters through the slats of his window blinds and he hears his Dad’s keys jingle in the door lock as he enters the house.  The tension that has all his muscles coiled tight eases when he hears the tired trudge of his Dad coming up the stairs and these days his Dad doesn’t even try to be quiet and sneak a peek to see if he’s sleeping anymore, he just opens the door and the same flicker of disappointment crosses his face and is quickly masked each time he sees Stiles is wide awake._ **

****

**_He comes in and stands by the bed, runs his hand over Stiles’ head, letting his fingers rake through his hair._ **

****

**_“Okay?”  His Dad questions, stifling a yawn after Stiles gives him a thumbs up._ **

****

**_“Yeah, get some sleep, you look like you could do with it after all that serving and protecting the citizens stuff.”  He smirks and his Dad’s tired enough to buy it as he snorts and ruffles his hair one more time before he stumbles off to his own bed so he can crash.  Stiles follows his movements and wishes the older man didn’t look so worn and haggard._ **

****

**_He rolls over and buries his face in the pillow.  His breath catches on a barely stifled sob, he knows it’s because of him his Dad’s so exhausted.  It’s his fault.  He presses his face in harder._ **

****

**_It’s a dream.. just a dream._ **

 

Stiles worries about him, God knows how he’s managing to work safely when he’s been getting so little sleep.  He’d woken him with his screams so often now that it was getting to be routine after that first time when he’d thought his Dad was going to have the very heart attack that Stiles had been so determined for him to avoid.  Stiles had stopped screaming and struggling when he realised that the arms that held him so securely were his Dad’s and the voice whispering against his hair telling him he was safe was the man that had loved him and raised him, who’d always protected him.

 

He loves his Dad so very much.  When he’s caught up in a nightmare, screaming till his throat is raw, each and every time his Dad comes running, never taking it for granted that Stiles will be okay.  Every night he’s not on duty he treats it like this might be the night when the threat is in the real world and he can shoot it.

 

If only it was that easy.

 

Stiles shivers and looks around at the shadows.  It feels like they’re starting to crowd him in. 

 

Stiles pulls the key he’d copied from Derek’s key ring a while back out of his pocket with a shaky hand and unlocks the door.   He’d rather face a pissed off ex-Alpha werewolf for entering his home without permission than stand here on the landing feeling the press of darkness at his back. 

 

Sliding the heavy metal door open he steps into the loft and hesitates in the entrance when he sees Derek sprawled on his couch watching him, his wolfy senses obviously telling him who was at his door.  He’s greeted with an intimidating scowl framed by dark stubble, Derek’s bare feet propped up on the coffee table and a bottle of beer in one hand resting on his thigh, condensation leaving a dark circular wet patch on his grey sweatpants.  

 

There’s a curious vulnerability to Derek, seeing him relaxing in his home, like he’s let his guard down knowing he’s safe.  It’s kinda nice and whoah.. where the hell are these thoughts coming from.  Stiles sucks his lower lip into his mouth, gnawing on it as he struggles to think.

  

“How’d you get in?”  Derek’s eyebrows slash dangerously across his brow as he frowns fiercely and just like that Stiles’ temper rises at his brusque tone and the lingering fear of his nightmares falls away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles confronts Derek about his leaving Beacon Hills without a word. Is it all a simple misunderstanding? And just who is the mystery girl who looks strangely familiar?

“Through the door.”  Stiles snaps, as he slams it shut behind him.  “With **_my_** key.”  He taunts as he waves the silver key in the air ensuring that Derek gets a good look before he pockets it again. 

 

A wave of satisfaction courses through him when Derek’s nostrils flare deeply and his eyes flicker wolf blue then back to the light human tones of brown, green and blue mixed together to form a rare shade that Stiles has never been able to decide on a name for.

 

“Nice to see you too, sourwolf.”  He mocks, delighting in the way Derek’s jaw goes tense for one brief moment before he forcibly takes a breath and releases it slowly.

 

“Who gave you the—“  Derek stops and rubs his index and middle fingers into his forehead, pressing hard like he’s trying to gouge through bone to his brain.  “Actually don’t bother, what do you want?”

 

Stiles growls at the other man’s cool bluntness, literally growls like he’s the wolf and Derek drops his hand and his eyes narrow flashing glacier blue at him again.  He ignores the warning, his blood coursing through his veins in a punishing rhythm, his pulse thundering to match his heartbeat.  He’s too furious to think about what he’s saying, to tone it down, so truth it is.  The older wolf hurt him and he’s too tired and irritated by everything going on in his life at the moment to keep it inside any longer and as he speaks his voice is a harsh rasp, getting louder and louder with every word.

 

“Why?  Why do you think?  To see you, you moron.. although I wonder why now.  To make sure you’re okay.  Because we’re friends damn it.. or I thought we were until you fucking left without a word.. without saying goodbye.”  Derek looks away, his face stony.  Stiles’ chest heaves frantically.

 

“I sent you messages.  Lots of them.  You never answered.  Not one.”  Derek bites out each word as though it physically pains him to put so many together at one time.  He lifts his feet off the coffee table and puts them on the floor as he places the nearly empty beer bottle on the table top. 

 

“It seemed pretty obvious that you’d had enough of.. of Cora and I.  After everything you and your Dad went through, it wasn’t a surprise.  I came to see you at the hospital before we left because you’re pack and whatever you may think Stiles, I’m not that much of a bastard to leave without making sure you were okay first.”

 

He ducks his head, eyes casting about the floor like he’s searching for something, the bitter irritation in his tone leaching away as he says softly.  “The nurse wouldn’t let me in.. something about a visitor list, but I could hear your hearts beating, the breaths you were making and I knew you were both asleep and okay.” 

 

Warmth courses through Stiles at the revelation and he wishes with everything he has that he’d been awake for that visit.  Melissa had insisted that they both get medical attention, his Dad for the knife wound in his chest and Stiles because he’d been knocked out cold when his Jeep had crashed.  It had only been for 24 hours observation for himself most of which he’d slept, only able to because Melissa had finagled a double room for them to share, but his Dad had needed another day.  Even though his wound hadn’t hit anything vital it was deep and Stiles had stayed at his bedside until they’d been released. 

 

Sometime during that 48 hours Cora and Derek had left Beacon Hills and when he’d found out, Stiles had come to the loft not believing Scott.  He’d let himself in, wandering through the vast space searching, only to end up sitting on the steps at the entrance knowing it was true.  The loft was empty not just of people, but with an emptiness of spirit, of life, that he’d always thought was due to the werewolves, their primal abundant vitality seeping into the very walls of the place.  That was gone, they were gone and he’d never felt more alone.

 

“Not a surprise.”  Stiles repeats numbly as his brain cranks into gear and gradually understanding washes over him pushing the hot burn of anger away and a relief that’s so strong and powerful settles in his chest.  A large crack that he hadn’t really acknowledged, since the last time he’d stepped into this very place, is filled amongst the multitudes of scars and missing chunks he’s certain that large muscle under his breastbone carries.

 

“Derek you’re part of the reason that my Dad’s still here with me, that Melissa and Chris are too.  What the hell gave you the idea that we’d had enough of you?  Either of you?  I owe you.”  He shakes his head at Derek’s reasoning, but stones and glass houses.  Stiles can’t deny he has his own set of issues and insecurities to rival the wolf’s. 

 

“Don’t talk to me about owing Stiles.  You kept Cora alive when I wasn’t there for her.”  Derek’s hands flex where they rest on his knees and Stiles can see the glint of sharp claws as they slide out of the tips of his fingers in his agitation.  The only sound he can hear is the steady in and out of their breathing.  It doesn’t look like Derek’s claws are going to retract any time soon the way they hook into his sweatpants, catching and pulling cotton threads out of the fabric.

 

“I didn’t get any messages, my phone was smashed when I crashed the Jeep **_that_** night.”  Stiles says earnestly, willing Derek to understand what he’s saying.

 

When he finally did get his phone replaced it was well after the Hales had left Beacon Hills and Stiles’ Dad had changed carriers so Stiles was stuck with a new number and unable to get to his old messages.  He’s not sure if he would’ve looked even if he’d been able to, afraid either way if he’d received one or not and he’s not ready to examine the reasons for that.  Maybe he never would.

 

Derek fixes Stiles with a look that rakes over him, as though the crash just happened and he’s trying to assess the amount of damage the Pack’s token human has received, through his clothes to the vulnerable flesh and bone underneath.  Stiles shifts restlessly and moves to the top of the stairs trying to ignore the sudden tingling that ripples through the length of his body. 

 

“Let me guess, Scott forgot to tell you to contact me at the hospital or by the house phone until I could get mine replaced like I asked him too.”  Stiles swears that he’s gonna punch his best friend when he next sees him, gonna pop him right in the nose and then maybe do it again for good measure.

 

“He also forgot to tell you that Melissa left a couple of names on our charts as allowed visitors.  One of them was yours.”  It had been pure instinct to ask Melissa to include Derek’s name on the short list of visitors.  After the terrible and frightening battles with the Alpha Pack and the Darach at the hospital, it had reinforced just how much things had changed between them.   Derek had been surprisingly protective of him that night, in both word and deed, rushing to his defence when the creepy-psycho Wonder Twins had merged into their uber-wolf shape and turned on him. 

 

What had shaken him to the core and had him re-evaluating how he felt about the Alpha was the fear that Derek had let him see, that he wasn’t sure if any of them would survive when he’d left Cora and he in the back of the ambulance.  There had been fear and something else in that lingering look before he’d turned away that Stiles hadn’t been able to decipher, not then and not now, but he’d not been able to forget the way his blood had surged through his veins or the ripple of goosebumps that had swept over him in response. 

 

“What?”  Derek growls out harshly, drawing his attention back to the werewolf, his spine is rigid and his eyebrows rising high on his forehead in surprise.

 

Stiles had agonized over Derek and Cora leaving him behind so easily and now he finds out Scott was probably so distracted by his on/off romance with both Allison and Isaac that he’d forgotten to pass on a simple message while he and his Dad were briefly hospitalized. 

 

The True Alpha’s gonna get such an ass kicking.

 

“Stiles?” Grooves furrow between Derek’s eyebrows as he crinkles his nose in dawning realisation. Stiles has to wonder when he’s suddenly been able to interpret the gruff questioning tone to Derek’s voice as vulnerability instead of the usual ‘you idiot, what the fuck?’ that he’d always assumed it to be.

 

“Next time come and see me properly before hightailing it to South America.”  Stiles says, striving for a light tone as his stomach twists and turns into knots.  Nervous tension courses through his system and he shifts his weight from foot to foot.  “When I’m awake preferably and can actually talk to you or—“  He shrugs almost helplessly.  “Whatever.”

 

“Okay.”  The nerves disappear as suddenly as they’d appeared, because that one word from Derek Hale is like a thumping great novel from anyone else and it’s strangely reassuring.  Stiles feels like he can breathe normally again.

 

Derek’s eyes blink slowly and the slight upward tilt to the corners of his lips makes him look younger and more appealing if that’s at all possible.  Stiles is halfway down the steps and can feel the stretch on his cheeks and the tug on his own lips as he smiles back uncontrollably, when he realises that Derek’s not alone and freezes in place. 

 

How the hell did he not see her?  She wasn’t there before, was she?  But, she must’ve been, his attention so focused on Derek that he’d simply not seen her.  His mouth feels locked into a distorted rictus, pulled into an almost painful grimace as a whiny noise of dismay escapes him and Derek’s not ‘almost’ smiling anymore.  He’s frowning back at him now and fuck..fuck..fuck.

 

There’s a woman curled into the other corner of the couch, her head resting on the padded arm as she watches him with something like recognition in light grey eyes that almost look silver and Stiles wonders if he’s seen her before because she looks familiar to him too.  Long dark hair swept over one shoulder, her skin is so pale it looks luminous in the poorly lit loft and a welcoming smile stretches her pink lips wide.  She’s in her early to mid-twenties and very attractive.  Beautiful in fact, complementing Derek’s model looks.  The perfect book ends.

 

The warmth that had unexpectedly flooded through his chest and belly when he’d realised it was all a stupid misunderstanding between he and the wolf shrivels and curls up almost to nothing leaving him cold and shaky.  He fiddles with the zipper on his hoodie and pulls it up because it’s freezing in the huge open space, but he supposes that’s to be expected as it’s been closed up for so long.

 

“I’m sorry.  I uh.. I should’ve called first.”  Stiles shifts uneasily under their combined scrutiny and his cheeks are the only part of him that feels hot as he realises he’s probably walked right into the middle of a date or something.

 

A groan sticks in his throat when he thinks of what ‘something’ could entail with Derek Hale because he’s not frickin’ blind and he’s seen what lies underneath that Henley of his, like who hasn’t with the number of times Derek’s found himself shirtless for whatever reason.  That it’s sometimes been the source of ‘inspiration’ for a few of Stiles’ happy alone time sessions is not something he likes to dwell on, particularly in the presence of a wolf that can detect arousal in the air like a shark can detect blood in the water. 

 

Stiles has over time come to think of his sexuality as ‘equal opportunity’ and that he can appreciate the rippling grooves of masculine abs as much as the gentle curve of a feminine neck and shoulder, considering the number of ridiculously hot people he associates with it’d be a crime to deny himself the pleasure simply based on gender.

 

“It’s okay.”  Derek murmurs and the woman shifts up onto her knees next to him, movements easy and supple even with the tight blue jeans.

 

“Told you there was a good reason.”  She says smugly, lifting a graceful slender-fingered hand and flicking the tip of Derek’s ear.  Derek twitches, not even glancing her way as he rubs his injured ear.

 

“Idiots.”  The woman smirks at him and there must be something up with the acoustics in the huge open space tonight because her voice is hollowed out, like an echo bouncing around the room and it’s sorta disorienting.

 

“Thanks.”  It slips out.  Part mortification, part sarcastic.  Stiles lifts his hand to the back of his neck and rubs it over his nape before dragging it over his scalp.  Embarrassment washes over him as he looks down at the stark concrete floor.

 

“I just.. yeah.. I’ll go.”  He needs to get out of here, badly, and turns to leave.

 

“Derek.”  The woman’s voice is sharp and insistent. 

 

Derek sighs heavily.  “You don’t have to.  You’re here now and we should..”

 

He huffs out a breath, shrugging his broad shoulders.

 

“Catch up maybe.”  The woman says in annoyance, silver eyes sparking and glaring fiercely at Derek and Stiles is pretty sure she mutters under her breath “Big doofus” and he can feel his eyes go wide.  Derek frowns again and is still ignoring her before getting to his feet and stretching.  His navy Henley pulls up revealing a narrow strip of pale flesh low on his abdomen, a trail of dark hair disappearing into the waistband of the grey sweatpants.  Stiles’ mouth goes instantly dry.

 

“Come on.  I’m hungry.”  Derek walks to the kitchen and Stiles follows hesitantly, aware that the woman who he still hasn’t been introduced to yet is smirking at him and one beautifully shaped dark eyebrow lifts as though she knows he can’t drag his eyes away from Derek’s ass.  The taut well-shaped ass he reluctantly admits he’s missed.

 

In the kitchen Derek pulls out of the fridge some Chinese takeout containers from the pack’s favourite restaurant.  Stiles can feel his spine stiffen as pride demands that he not let it show how much seeing those containers disturbs him, because they beg the question, if Derek has left-overs in his fridge when did he get back exactly?  He doesn’t say anything, but Derek turns his head and his nose is twitching.

 

Do hurt feelings have a scent?

 

“I got back yesterday.”  Derek says, seeing Stiles focus on the containers he holds in his arms and obviously interpreting his unasked question correctly.  “I didn’t contact Scott until tonight though and I asked him to let you know I was back.  I wasn’t sure you’d care.”

 

Ouch, Stiles winces.  It seemed that hurt feelings weren’t exclusively his.

 

“I’ve got rice, noodles, bbq pork and some egg rolls.”  As he puts them on the kitchen bench Derek runs his eyes over Stiles, from head to toe.  He glares fiercely.  “You look like shit.”

 

The outraged squawk Stiles makes is quickly choked back when Derek lifts his hand and swipes a thumb over the thin delicate skin just below his left eye.  He can’t move, it’s a barely there touch and yet his heart thunders under his breastbone and his skin feels like he’s been branded.  He knows that there are dark circles under his eyes, so heavy and bruised that it just makes the rest of him look even paler than normal, he doesn’t need anyone to point that out. 

 

Just as he’s about to open his mouth and let rip, Derek’s face is grim when he says.  “You’ve lost weight.  What 20 or 30 pounds?”

 

It sounds like an accusation and Stiles can feel his cheeks heat yet again when the woman easily boosts herself up and sits at the end of the counter watching them both like they’re some form of personal entertainment.  So, his clothes are maybe a bit too loose, all too aware that his hoodie is hanging off him, and so he’s not hungry like the way he used to be, like a typical teenage boy vacuuming the contents of his fridge in under a minute.  He could stand to lose a few pounds, get rid of some puppy fat.  He scowls.

 

“Not exactly how I remember you either, dude.”   Stiles waves a hand at him.  It’s not escaped Stiles’ notice that now that Derek’s no longer juiced up on Alpha-roids he’s not as huge and overwhelmingly layer upon layer of muscle as he once was.  He’s still fit and with definition and contours that make Stiles envious, the sight of his abs had proven that, but he’s not as hard anymore, there’s more the grace and agility of an athlete to the wolf and not the sharp edges and blunt brute strength of a warrior.

 

“Don’t call me dude.”  Derek growls as he splits the bbq pork between the noodles and the rice and shoves them into the microwave.

 

“I’d kill for an egg roll.”  The woman says, her heels bounce rhythmically against the cupboard doors.   The shitkicker boots she’s wearing sound loud in the confines of the kitchen and Stiles grits his teeth as it feels like it’s banging straight into his brain.  Derek’s acting all oblivious and Stiles wonders if maybe he’s walked into the middle of an argument between the two of them.

 

“Stiles, tell douchewolf to heat up an egg roll.”  She looks longingly at the bag of egg rolls as she answers his unspoken questions about whether they were fighting and if she knows about wolves or not and oh great.. now he’s the go-between.  Not that he lacks experience, just ask Scott and Allison when he was running himself ragged between them, it’s more that he doesn’t give a fuck anymore about enabling other people’s romantic entanglements.  Nobody seemed to take that old adage ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ seriously.

 

“Can you put in a couple of egg rolls please?”  It’s not for her, not really, because the more he thinks about them the more he wants one of Yee’s specialties for himself.  The banging stops and the woman stares at him with an intensity that has his eyes darting away.  He’s aware that she watches him for a while, but when he doesn’t meet her gaze she seems to relax.

 

“How’s Cora?  Liking Argentina?”  Stiles asks, more because the silence while the microwave hums in the background is really starting to get to him.

 

Derek’s face twists, his mouth smiles and yet his eyes are sad and Stiles can feel a strange lurching feeling in the pit of his stomach when he sees it. 

 

“Good.  She’s good.”  Derek leans back against the counter, his fingers curl around the edge either side of him.  His knuckles turn white.  “The Castillo pack is a good fit for her.  Juan is a good Alpha and he likes her.”

 

Stiles thinks there are far too many ‘goods’ in those couple of sentences, as though Derek’s trying to convince himself that Cora’s better off so far away with another pack and without her big brother to protect her.  He doesn’t call him on it though.

 

“Oh he _‘likes’_ her just fine.”  The woman says grumpily, before saying more wistfully.  “It’s more of a miracle that she likes him back too.  I didn’t think she was going to let anyone in again after Boyd.”

 

He’s not touching that Boyd comment with a barge pole.  “I’ll miss her.”  Is what he says instead, his mind reeling at the implication that she’d been in South America with Derek and Cora.  The woman looks sad and sighs, nodding in agreement. 

 

“You weren’t tempted to stay?”  Stiles asks Derek curiously. 

 

“No.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes and he can see the woman’s matching him roll for roll as she gives Derek an almost disappointed glare.  The whole monosyllabic schtick that Derek has going on is seriously getting old. 

 

“For fuck’s sake Derek, that’s all you can come up with.  NO.  What about Beacon Hills is your home?  Or there’s more for you here or the pack’s here or even God forbid that someone important to you is here and you don’t want to be anywhere else.”  Her upper lip curls slightly revealing gleaming white teeth as she huffs in annoyance.

 

Stiles looks down at his feet, is that a hole starting to form in the toe of his Converse’s.. hmm.. maybe time to get a new pair and he should really think about revamping his wardrobe too while he’s at it considering he has lost some weight.   He wonders if Lydia would like to go shopping with him and normally that thought would have him ready to plunge a needle straight into his eye considering how much he hates it, shopping not Lydia, but right now that would be less painful than listening to the woman berating Derek.

 

The microwave dings and Derek seems almost relieved to not have to talk about his little sister anymore or who is or isn’t important to him here in Beacon Hills, as he quickly opens the door and pulls out the steaming food.  He grabs a couple of forks and hands one to Stiles with the box of BBQ pork and noodles and Stiles feels a little swell of satisfaction that Derek remembers he prefers noodles over rice.  He leaves the egg rolls in the bag on the counter and walks back into the main room.

 

When it doesn’t look like the woman’s going to grab one Stiles opens the bag and pops an egg roll into the top of his open carton and leaves the rest there.  He wraps his hands around the warm box letting the heat seep into his cold fingers.

 

He’s starting to feel really uncomfortable now.  Is Derek trying to make a point to this woman and using Stiles to do it?  Because that’s not right, ignoring her and making food for them both and not her is just downright rude.  Maybe she had something earlier.  He hopes so.

 

He sits down at the far end of the couch cursing Derek for his lack of furniture and wondering if he’s left enough space between them for her to sit if she wants to.  He needn’t have worried, when she comes back into the room she sits on the coffee table and watches them eat seemingly not bothered by the lack of her own food in a carton.  Stiles shifts restlessly in his seat, self-conscious that she watches every forkful pass his lips.

 

She’s quite stunning.  With every mouthful of food he swallows, Stiles examines her features from under the fringe of his eyelashes.  The blade of a nose and strong jawline give her a natural authority, but it’s the high cheekbones and slight tilt to her pale silvery eyes that make her beautiful which is compounded when he sees she has a slight gap between her top front teeth.  She still looks familiar to him, but he can’t quite place where or when he’d seen her.

 

He slurps up a long winding strand of a noodle, feeling the sauce it’s coated in gather at the corners of his mouth and he tries to suck at the noodle and lick at his lips all at the same time.

 

“No wonder he loves watching your mouth.”

 

Stiles freezes, the end of the noodle hanging limply out of his mouth as he flashes a disbelieving look to Derek as though to say _‘can you believe she just said that?’_ and finds that Derek is indeed staring fixedly at his mouth, his eyes glittering in the poor light.  

 

Stiles’ breath hitches and he’s choking.  Holy fuck.. he’s gonna choke to death on noodles and bbq pork in Derek Hale’s loft.  Of all the ways he could possibly go he never saw that one coming.  Derek starts to thump on his back and Stiles is pretty sure his spine is about to make a very unwanted appearance through his sternum.  He manages to lift his hand and scruffs the front of Derek’s Henley and weakly pushes at his hard chest and thankfully the wolf takes the hint and backs off to watch as Stiles hacks and coughs, finally wheezing the last of the noodles down his throat, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

 

“How have you managed to stay alive this long?”  Derek growls out, eyebrows fiercely condemning.

 

“You suck at dating.  I mean really, really bad.  Make **_him_** feel uncomfortable because you can’t deal.”  Her eyes send daggers towards the man sitting at his side as she growls softly in annoyance and that’s it.  Stiles can’t not say something, he doesn’t understand or care what he’s walked into the middle of, but there’s no excuse for rudeness from either of them.

 

“That’s it.”  Stiles bites out, glaring at Derek who is looking at him puzzled, then towards the woman.  “We haven’t been properly introduced because Derek’s such a poor host.  I’m Stiles.” 

 

He sticks out his hand towards her and is mortified to see that she’s staring at him in disbelief like he’s a fucking alien or something.  He cringes and draws his hand back, oh shit.. maybe there’s some form of werewolf etiquette he’s just breached.

 

“Sorry.”  He mumbles in embarrassment.

 

“Stiles.. who are you talking to?”  Stiles flicks a glance up to Derek’s face and he can see worry is furrowing deep grooves into the skin of his forehead. 

 

“What?”  Stiles huffs out.  This is really going too far and he’s not going to be used as a tool for Derek to humiliate this poor woman any further and he puts his box of noodles down on the floor and stands up.

 

“You can see me.”  She breathes out and the expression on her face becomes something wondrous to see as a smile stretches her lips and she slowly rises to her feet as well.

 

“You can see me.”  She says again.

 

“Stiles?”  Derek’s standing beside him now and he reaches out and holds his arm and Stiles can feel his thumb rubbing soothing circles through the material of his hoodie.  He can feel panic start to rise as he’s surrounded by them.  Derek on one side and the woman on the other, both watching him with an unwavering intensity that’s frightening.

 

“You can see me right?”  The woman demands insistently as Stiles’ attention is torn between the two of them.  He’s struggling to catch a breath and can only nod his head, yes.  When he does the woman screams in delight and Stiles can feel his face blanche at the sound because it’s piercing and hurts his ears.

 

“Fuck yeah.”  She does a little victory dance, hips grinding out little circles in the opposite direction to her fists bumped together rotating out in front.  “I knew it.  I knew one day someone would see me.”

 

She leans in close to his face as though she’s going to kiss him and Stiles jerks back stumbling into Derek.  “Of course it was you.  It had to be right?” 

 

“Stiles.. what’s going on?  Are you okay?”  Derek holds him and Stiles can feel the edge of panic start to ease slightly. 

 

“Yeah.. just tell your friend to back off.”  Stiles can hear a sharply indrawn breath and looks at Derek’s face and he can see the wolf looks anxious as he licks his lips slowly.

 

“Stiles there’s no one else here.  It’s just you and me.”  Derek says so seriously that for one moment Stiles almost believes him.  Then he starts to get angry.

 

“Stop fucking with me Derek.  I knew you could be an asshole sometimes but this..”  He laces his voice with disgust and tries to pull his arm out of Derek’s grip.  “A stupid joke.”

 

“Stiles.  Listen to me.”  Derek insists and there’s a note in his voice which demands attention, he may not be an Alpha anymore, but there’s an authority about him that Stiles can’t ignore and he stops his struggling.

 

“Is there someone else here?”  Derek asks and Stiles’ eyes flick to where the woman stands and he can see that Derek’s eyes aren’t registering anyone in front of him.  They don’t flicker with movement, the pupils don’t expand or contract and it’s obvious that Derek doesn’t see what Stiles does.  Nausea rolls through him.

 

“I’m seeing things aren’t I?”  He whispers hoarsely.  Fear wraps tight around his chest and squeezes.  It’s happened, he’s finally lost the plot, gone cuckoo.. insane.  They’re going to be sizing him up for a straightjacket in the very near future.

 

“Yes.”

 

“No.”  Yells the woman.  “I’m real.. I’m so fucking real Stiles.  Please, just because Derek can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.. that I’ve not been here every day since Peter killed me.”

 

Stiles can feel his eyes go wide as he connects the dots and blurts out.  “Laura.”

 

Derek jerks, his fingers tightening painfully on the flesh of his arm before he releases him and Stiles stumbles away and looks at them both.  He can see it now, why she is so painfully familiar to him.  She looks like Derek and Cora, the distinguishing marks of the Hales beyond hair colour are so clear.  The shape of her nose, the stretch of her mouth and the same quirking eyebrow that they have as they both watch him lean over and put his hands on his knees while he tries to catch his breath. 

 

Even worse is when she tilts her head just so and he remembers vividly seeing her lying in her grave, bloodied and filthy, looking up at him with wide open eyes that have a milky cast to them and he wants to puke.  Can feel bile surge up his throat, burning, before he’s able to swallow it back down.  He feels ill.

 

He closes his eyes, screws them up tight unable to bear the condemnation that surely she must be directing towards him. Guilt and regret weigh heavy in his gut when he remembers how it had been a game to him, to go into the woods and find the mutilated body of a young woman.  He can’t believe how callous he’d been, how insensitive and then ultimately desecrating her grave and having her brother accused of her murder.  What had he been thinking?  The truth was that he hadn’t.  He hadn’t considered anyone else’s feelings that night, including Scott’s and even his Dad’s, so caught up in his own morbid curiosity and look how well that had turned out.

 

“I’m sorry.”  Stiles rasps out hoarsely.  “So sorry.”

 

When he lifts his head Stiles gasps in shock and his heart stutters erratically under his breastbone, the siblings are standing side by side, however, Laura is standing **_in_** the middle of the coffee table.  The smooth plane of the table’s surface cuts through her legs just below the knee and Stiles can see her jeans and boot clad feet shift between the table legs beneath the top. 

 

Laura looks down at herself and gives him a wry almost apologetic grin.  “Oops.”

 

It’s too much and Stiles can feel his chest freeze and he can’t breathe and the edges of his sight are going dark.  He starts to topple over and fully expects to feel his face make all too painful contact with the cement floor and mentally he thinks ‘ouch’ and hopes he doesn’t break his nose before he loses consciousness. 

 

Thankfully it all goes black before he does, but not before he hears Derek frantically shout his name.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up after collapsing and wishes he could go back to sleep because things are just getting weirder. Derek's giving him intense looks while being really, really stubborn and it turns out Laura's a bit of an asshole too - the Hales are a class all to themselves, sister like brother.
> 
> Sorry guys if this keeps popping up in your inbox - I forgot to include Stiles' contact list.

Stiles’ eyes flutter open and he can see Derek perched on the edge of the couch as he looks down at him.  The older wolf is so still as he watches him and his eyes are dark with concern, only starting to lighten the longer Stiles is able to focus on him.  Struggling to lift his head up, Stiles frantically looks around the open living space as Derek hushes him, a heavy hand splayed on his chest gently pressing him back, the warmth of it soaking into his chest.  He doesn’t see anyone else in the room and heaves a big sigh of relief and allows his body to relax.

 

Screwing his face up tight, he wriggles his nose and stretches his mouth wide, opening and closing it, trying to gauge what damage has occurred when he realises that it doesn’t actually hurt.  Huh. Derek must’ve caught him before he struck the floor.  Yay for wolfy superfast reflexes.  A single eyebrow quirks, lifting high on the wolf’s forehead and Stiles cheeks grow warm when he pictures what he must look like to the other man, something along the lines of a demented guppy.  Smooth Stilinski, smooth.

 

"Are you feeling okay?"  

 

“Uh.. yeah.  Thanks, Derek.”  Stiles rasps out and squeezes the hand that holds his so carefully where Derek rests it on his thigh.  He can feel the heat from the wolf’s body through the soft worn cotton fabric of his sweatpants against the back of his hand and it helps the shivering that racks his body.  Reaction, he thinks, pleased that his brain is slowly starting up again after such an abrupt shutdown.

 

“You’re welcome.”  Derek murmurs softly in reply and there is definitely relief in his tone mixed with amusement and the corners of his mouth kick up slightly in a little smile.  It’s one of those genuinely sweet ones that Derek sometimes lets slip and always leaves Stiles feeling slightly confused as to how a deadly, broody werewolf can look so endearing.  Stiles feels lost as he looks into the swirling mix of colours that make up Derek’s irises, he can’t look away and for some reason it seems that Derek can’t either. 

 

Derek’s little smile slowly disappears and his pupils expand above his flaring nostrils as he inhales deeply.  His expression is so intense that a completely involuntary shiver wracks Stiles from head to toe.  Derek’s hand tightens around his almost painfully.  Is it his imagination or is Derek’s head getting closer?  The wolf’s eyes flick to his mouth and then back up to meet his and Stiles can only lay there with his heart hammering hard and fast in his chest.

 

“God almighty, you’re killing me with all the UST guys.”  Every single muscle Stiles possesses tenses to the point of pain at the familiar voice and Laura’s head suddenly pops into view from between his splayed legs.  The rest of her rises up from the depths of the couch to loom over him threateningly as she waggles her eyebrows playfully when suddenly she leans in sharp and fast towards him and Stiles flinches in horror. 

 

“Or do I have to chaperone my little brother and make sure you’re not going to take advantage of him, Stiles?”  She hisses the words out.  No longer completely solid, she’s transparent.  Body fat melts away and her skin stretches overly tight on her bones as he watches.  Her cheeks hollow out below dark skeletal eyesockets which are lit up by gold pinpoints and her hair lifts and swirls in long tangles around her head by an invisible breeze.  In her eerie, echo filled voice she says “Boo.”

 

Stiles’ eyes feel like they’re bulging from their sockets as he screams and jerks up so sharp and fast that Derek doesn’t have time to get out of the way and gets a headbutt to the nose from Stiles’ forehead, hard enough to make it bleed and his eyes water.  Stiles doesn’t have time to stop and give first aid though he’s too busy scrambling up and over the back of the couch.  His head throbbing painfully above his right eyebrow.

 

“Stiles.”  Both Derek and Laura say his name.  Laura in wheezy breaths as she tries to talk and laugh at the same time, Derek with such concern that Stiles would be touched if he wasn’t majorly freaking out that he was either having a nervous breakdown or this was a genuine non-werewolf supernatural event of some sort. 

 

They both approach him from opposite sides of the couch.  Derek’s cupping his nose, catching the blood as his healing kicks in, he swipes his hand over his hip leaving a dark smudge on the bottom of his shirt.  He’s relieved to see Laura is solid again, looking more human and less walking skeleton, she holds her hands out slightly to the sides in entreaty as her whole body shakes with laughter.

 

“Oh man.. if you could’ve seen your face.  Do you know how pissed off I was when I came back?  Ghost here.”  She points to herself, waving her hands up and down the front of her body.  “That no one can see.. what’s up with that, right?  So how the hell am I meant to scare anyone, it felt like I was in my own version of “Beetlejuice”.  But, that was so worth the wait.. damn, I could go a cigarette.”

 

“Get the hell away from me.”  Stiles spits out at the thing that calls itself Laura and her smile slides away.  Fright has his pulse throbbing painfully in his neck, the powerful surge of adrenalin that he’d received sending his body into ‘fight or flight’ mode.

 

“Stiles—“  Laura begins her voice softer.

 

“Fuck off.”  Stiles snarls out and it’s stupid to feel guilty at the hurt that flickers across her face, but he does and feels angry for it considering she’s the one trying to scare him half to death.

 

“Stiles.. I’m going to call Deaton okay.  I think you..we need help.”  Derek is talking soothingly and it’s irritating as all fuck.  He’s not used to hearing the wolf talk to him like he’s a toddler in the middle of a tantrum, even if he damn well feels like said toddler.   

 

“Hmmf.. you do that Derek.  That’s all we need, Deaton here to imply he knows all the answers, tell us nothing and then say we have to work it out for ourselves.”  Laura snorts disdainfully.  “That’ll be real helpful.”

 

Stiles catches himself and suppresses a little snicker that rises to tickle the back of his throat and clamps down hard on his amusement, even if he agrees with every word she.. no, no it… every word **_it_** said.

 

“Seriously you can’t see it?”  Stiles doesn’t dare take his eyes off it and there’s something so very Derek-like in the way that Laura rolls her eyes and growls at him.

 

“Don’t call me **_it_**.”

 

“No.”  Derek says as he walks across to the long wooden table beneath the huge industrial window and picks up his phone.

 

“I’m not a monster Stiles.”  Laura hisses at him angrily.  Stiles shuffles around as she starts towards him again, trying to keep the couch between them, although from what he’s just witnessed he’s not sure what good it’ll do.  It’s not everyday one sees a haunted couch.

 

“I’m Laura Elizabeth Hale and I died nearly 18 months ago on the night of a full moon by my uncle’s claws.”

 

Stiles swallows hard.  She sounds convincing.  Really convincing.   He’s acted on less admittedly, everything inside him is telling him to go with his gut.  He’s paused at the furthest end of the couch and before he knows it she’s running at him straight into the couch moving through it like it’s nothing, like there’s not wooden frame work, stuffing and padding or velour fabric to get past.

 

He flails backwards, arms pinwheeling madly as he falls on his ass and she’s on him.  Laura’s straddling him, leaning down getting her face up into his.  It freaks him out because she’s so close.  Close enough that if she were breathing he’d feel the air passing her lips against his face, but he doesn’t and that’s so wrong.  Stiles winces.  There’s nothing but the chill that pours off her and threatens to snap-freeze his face, it’s like that very first morning after a fresh snowfall when you step outside from the warmth and the skin on your face tingles and stings from the cold.

 

All he can do is look into her eyes and what he sees there horrifies him as much as he’s amazed by it.  There’s a truth in the pain, fear and rage that crosses her features and it’s so real that he can feel it like she’s radiating it straight into his very being.  Maybe she is, he’s read a lot of shit on the supernatural including ghosts, but really who knows for sure exactly what she can and can’t do.

 

There’s muttered cursing behind him and he hears the clatter of what sounds like a phone dropping and shattering onto the concrete floor.  Derek’s there by his side and pulling him up and through Laura before he can stop him, she shimmers and dissipates like smoke, the tendrils curling around him and mixing with his breath that’s formed a vapour cloud in the air.

 

Wailing in alarm, it feels like a blast of cold air rushes through the very core of him.  The chill settles deep into Stiles’ bones and he shivers uncontrollably, his teeth chattering.  Derek wraps himself around Stiles letting him burrow into his broad chest that’s radiating heat.  His cold nose brushing over the skin of Derek’s collarbone as he presses his face in hard and tight. 

 

“God Stiles.. you’re freezing.”  Derek grabs his hands and rubs them between his before popping one under each of his armpits and Stiles can feel that spot is like a bazillion times hotter than anywhere else.  It’s so weirdly intimate being in Derek’s arms like this, but if he’s honest with himself he likes it, and doesn’t he truly hate that perverse part of his brain that won’t let him hide in denial much as he really wants to.

 

Inhaling rapidly as his freak out begins, Stiles can smell the other man’s clean, musky sweat, the wild scent that’s pure Derek.  It reminds him of the woods, pine sap, fragrant cedar and raw black oak, rich earth underfoot.  The tang of Derek soaks into his airways with every breath, coats his tongue with the taste.  The wolf cups the back of his neck with one hand, the warmth seeping into his nape and slowly strokes his thumb over the hairline.  Stiles shivers, but not with cold this time, electricity crackles over the surface of his sensitive skin as that damn thumb ruffles his short hair.  Derek’s touch is a curious contradiction, on the one hand he feels the sparks lick over his body on the other he feels calmer with the weight of that hand resting there.  He leans into it.

 

“Sorry Stiles.”  Laura sounds so sad and remorseful that Stiles can’t help but look over his shoulder at her.  The silvery eyes are a dark, stormy grey now, a thunderstorm threatening to break. 

 

“I shouldn’t have scared you like that.. it’s just I’ve gotten to know you, seeing you around.. hearing you talk, the jokes you make.  It was like you were my friend too, like pack.”  Her voice hitches.  “I forgot that you don’t know me, that I’m a stranger.”

 

“S’okay.”  Stiles slurs out and he vaguely wonders if he’s hypothermic, then dismisses it because if he can even think to use that word he’s not in as bad a shape as he’d first thought.  He tries to smile at her reassuringly, because despite all the badass-itude vibe that he gets from her she looks brittle, breakable.  But, his lips feel sloppy and he gives up letting his forehead rest on Derek’s collarbone.

 

“It’s not okay.”  Derek huffs out, his breath tickling the hair at his temple as it ruffles through the strands.  “You’re too thin, obviously not getting enough food or sleep, passing out and seeing things.  That’s so far from okay that you can’t even see it anymore.”

 

There’s a note in Derek’s voice that’s pinging an answering chord in Stiles and he chuckles roughly in disbelief.

 

“Nggh..worried about me.”  He’s pressed in so tight to the Derek’s body that he feels the barest of twitches that runs through it at his cold-affected words.  Stiles jerks his head back to look into the beautiful masculine face of the wolf.  “Hmm.. you care about me.”

 

A tide of red surfaces high on Derek’s cheekbones and the tips of his ears almost glow with the rushing surge of blood to them.  A deep rumble vibrates through Derek’s chest and Stiles can feel it against his.  He’s so warm, that he wriggles his fingers where they sit against the hollow of the wolf’s armpit now that he can finally feel them and he can feel a momentary stutter in Derek’s breathing before he quickly lifts his arms slightly to release them.

 

“Of course I do.. you’re pack.”

 

“He’s always cared about you.  You’re more than pack to him you know.”  Laura says and Stiles’ eyes feel like they’re big and round.

 

“Really?”  Stiles asks in disbelief and can’t help snorting his amusement at the way they both roll their eyes and simultaneously snap out ‘Yes’ in identical tones of exasperation.

 

“What?”  Derek huffs out.

 

“You’re so alike, it’s scary.”  Stiles stops smiling when he sees the line of Derek’s jaw tense and his eyes go hard as he releases him to pick up his phone from the floor and curses.  Throws his phone carelessly onto the table as he turns back to Stiles and holds out his hand.

 

“I need your phone, mine’s broken.” 

 

“Ahh.. there’s the sourwolf I know and lo—“  Stiles snaps his mouth shut, grimacing.  “Thank you Stiles.. no problem Derek.. I really appreciate it Stiles.. of course, what are friends for Derek..” 

 

Derek narrows his eyes at him and beckons impatiently with his outstretched hand.  Stiles pulls his phone from his pocket and hands it over.  Derek thumbs through his contact list impatiently.

 

“What the hell Stiles?  You do have Deaton’s number in here, right?”  He says tersely.

 

“Of course.  He’s under HG.” 

 

“Of course he is.  How did I not realise?”  Derek gives him the stinkeye. 

 

“Ease up on the sarcasm, big guy, you might hurt yourself.”  Stiles says in a mock serious tone.

 

“Why all the abbreviations?  What does HG mean?”

 

“In case my phone falls into the wrong hands they won’t know who’s on my contact list.  As for Deaton he’s HG for Hoodoo Guru.”  Derek cocks his head to one side, he seems to think about it for a moment before he gives Stiles an approving nod.

 

“Weirdly, coming from you, that all makes sense.  What’s DWS and DWOS then?”  He asks curiously.

 

“Ha ha, thanks so much for your approval.”  Stiles mutters.  “Uh.. DWS is Isaac.  Douche with scarf.”

 

Laura makes a funny choking noise.

 

“So I must be DWOS then.  Douche without scarf, right?”  He lifts an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, but DWOS isn’t you, that’s Scott.”  Derek’s lips part into an ‘O’ of surprise.  “You’re actually BB.”

 

“BB?  I don’t think I want to know.”

 

“It’s okay, Big Bad.”  Stiles snorts out a loud laugh at Derek’s expression, a confused mix of exasperation and amusement, the wolf ducks his head and Stiles can just make out the reluctant curve of his lips.  Laura joins in, laughing lightly as she looks fondly at her brother, enjoying his discomfiture as only a big sister can.

 

“Derek, I think it’s really her.  She’s too much of an asshole not to be a Hale.”  Stiles grins widely as Laura pokes her tongue out at him.

 

His smile falters as the wolf shakes his head in denial, all humour gone, face so painfully stern once more that it hurts to see it.  “It can’t be.”

 

“Why not?” 

 

“Because why would she come back after all this time?  Why can you see her and not me when I’d give anything to see her again?”  Derek turns away and moves to look out the huge industrial windows and Stiles can see his and Derek’s reflections in the glass, but not one for Laura and his eyes and brain struggle to match up what he’s seeing right in front of him and the reflected images and fails.  He sighs and closes his eyes for one moment, it’s giving him a major headache.

 

“Stiles repeat what I say.  Okay?”  Opening his eyes, Stiles can’t ignore the plea in her voice or the fierce concern on her face as she watches the other wolf and nods.

 

Laura moves to where her brother stands so alone against the backdrop of night and gently strokes his cheek as she starts to speak.  Derek flinches and Stiles can see the shiver that runs through him.

 

“She’s touching your face.”  Derek throws him a startled, wary glance over his shoulder, eyes wide as he lifts a trembling hand to his cheek.

 

“Just a draft.”  The wolf growls out stubbornly.

 

“I think Stiles can see me because of the sacrifice, he died and came back and it’s unlocked something inside of him.  Lets him see me.”  Stiles can feel his eyebrows lift as he repeats almost word for word what Laura says and it makes sense to him.  Travelling between different planes of existence would change anyone and if it’s altered his senses and perceptions of the world around him now that seems logical.

 

“As for coming back.. Derek I didn’t leave.  I’ve always been here, right here with you.”  Stiles chokes out the words, a lump forming in his throat as he sees the most tender expression on Laura’s face as she watches her brother and he wonders how she’s managed to bear it without going insane.  Seeing and hearing everything and everyone, but not being seen or heard in return.  No acknowledgement of any sort that you exist.

 

Derek shakes his head violently.  “No, no, no.  I would’ve known.. I would’ve felt it if she was still here.  There was nothing.  Nothing—“  Derek stops abruptly and meets his eyes and there’s a pain in his so deep and stark that Stiles can feel his limbs tremble in sympathy as the wolf whispers bleakly.  “..and I was all alone.”

 

The only sound Stiles can hear is the shaky pants of Derek’s breathing.   Laura lifts one hand, pressing it hard to her mouth and the other curves low around her belly, trying to hold herself together he thinks, because he feels like he’s going to shatter himself at the heavy weight of grief that emanates from Derek.  From where he’s standing he can see her silver eyes are glistening and then he sees it and gasps aloud.  Blinks his eyes rapidly because he can’t quite believe it.

 

“Look at the window.”  Stiles points with a suddenly trembling hand and Derek sucks in a harsh breath when he sees the pattern of frost radiating up the glass panes on the inside.  The windows are covered in a coating of ice about six foot around a central point, the light from the half-moon shines down, illuminating the frozen fractals forming.  The shapes and cracks that splinter through it create delicate patterns and it’s so beautiful that Stiles almost feels like he’s standing in a church with stained windows of the purest white and palest ice blues drawn from the heart of a glacier. 

 

Laura and Derek step back to see the formation and Stiles can see that it radiates from a clear patch of glass, untouched by the frost, it’s all too clearly the outline of a person and it’s right where Laura had been standing.  Visible proof of her actual presence has his nervous system twitching, his insides feel like they’re jittering wildly.  There’s knowing and then there’s ‘knowing’, Stiles is relieved that there’s some actual proof he’s not going crazy.

 

While Stiles feels like he’s in constant motion, literally vibrating in his skin unsure of how to feel because in this situation what’s appropriate, Derek is a rigid contrast.  Body statue-like, his eyes flicking over the window again and again.  His hand curls around Stiles’ phone and the plastic creaks dangerously.

 

“Dude, my Dad will have my ass if I need another new phone.”  He points at Derek’s hand as the wolf looks at him incredulously, but he loosens his grip.

 

“We need Deaton.  There’s something here alright, he’ll know how to get rid of it, whatever it is.”  Derek pulls up the contact list again.

 

“ ** _It,_** is your sister.”  Stiles insists.  He doesn’t know why he’s so sure, just that he is.  Whether it’s just that they’re so alike or it’s the love that’s clearly in her eyes as she looks at Derek even when she’s giving him shit.  He believes.

 

Derek growls in frustration.  “No it’s not.  It’s something that’s trying to make us believe that so it can manipulate us.. so it can use me.” 

 

“How can you be so damn sure?”  Stiles watches as the wolf paces back and forth in front of him.  A wild thing prowling, searching for the enemy, for something tangible that it can rend with tooth and claw.

 

“Because if it’s her then she knows..”  Derek shakes his head.  “She wouldn’t still be here.”

 

“What?  What do you mean.. knows what?”   Anger and frustration surge through him as he sees Derek’s mouth go tight-lipped, sealed shut in almost a perfect straight line.  When the wolf turns away from him he reaches out to yank him back, cold fury burning in him at the dismissal, only somehow Laura’s there and she stands between them.

 

“Stop it.”  Laura bites out.  “Leave him alone.”

 

“Oh for God’s sake.. well tell him something that only you would know.”  Stiles snaps at Laura.  Hurt and anger coil deep within him at Derek’s refusal to talk. 

 

Laura’s eyes go wide and she chews on her lip as Stiles waves his hand in a ‘come on, come on’ gesture. 

 

“No pressure Stiles.” She snarls.  Lips curling.  “Okay, here goes.  He secretly likes broccoli, but tells everyone he hates it because he doesn’t want to be the odd one out.  He had a crush on a little girl in third grade, I can’t remember her name but he said he liked her corn rows.  I helped him change his pyjamas the first time he had a wet dream because he came to me during the night thinking he’d wet the bed.  He loves cats and kittens even though they don’t like us because we’re wolves.  He had nightmares every night for over a year after the fire and we had a big fight the day I left to come to Beacon Hills.”  If she needed to breathe she’d be panting after all that he decides.

 

Stiles repeats what she says and Derek’s eyes close and his hand about to press on Deaton’s number trembles over the phone as he listens.  For a long moment Stiles holds his breath absorbing these insights into the man that is Derek Hale and a sweet warmth blooms deep within him from the knowledge, helping to scour away the irritated, angry feelings at the wolf’s lack of trust.  Derek’s shoulders go tense and Stiles releases that breath and it all comes out in a high pitched whine, his lungs deflating like pricked balloons, before the wolf snarls viciously.

 

“It’s not her, it can’t be.  These are just lucky guesses, observation and some research.  You’re good at that.”  Derek turns darkly suspicious eyes upon him.  “Are you just fucking with me Stiles?  Is this all a big prank, just to get back at me for leaving, for getting my **_only_** sister out of this hellhole.”

 

Laura’s face goes pinched and even paler at Derek’s words and Stiles can feel his stomach plummet and he grinds his teeth together to keep his composure.  He’s gutted by the accusation, can’t believe that for all his trust issues that Derek would even consider it.  Stiles sucks in a shaky breath and tries to imagine what it would be like for him if it was Derek who could see his Mom, but not him.  The agony that sears through him like acid at that thought gives him the barest insight to maybe what Derek is going through.  He may understand, but it doesn’t stop the bitterness welling within him.

 

“How can I have done that?”  Stiles points to the window where the ice is slowly starting to melt, water trickles down the glass and brickwork to slowly pool on the floor.

 

“You’re a smart guy Stiles, there’s nothing you can’t do if you put your mind to it.”  Derek walks to the window his head turning this way and that as he examines the glass and the frame.  “What is it?  What have you rigged up to do this?” 

 

“Jesus Christ.  Will you listen to yourself?  I didn’t even know you were back until this evening.”  Stiles’ head is spinning with the accusations.  Can Derek seriously believe he’s responsible?  Is it easier for him to believe that Stiles is playing some awful joke on him than the truth, that Laura’s ghost is here.. has always been here from the sound of it?

 

“You’ve got a key.  You could’ve done this anytime, waiting for the right moment.  Is this the right moment Stiles?”  Derek’s face is pale and drawn, his voice a rasp that grates over his nerve endings.   “The right moment to hurt me.”

 

“I can’t believe you.”  Stiles shakes his head at the wolf, truly horrified, and turns to Laura.  “Has he always been like this?”

 

“What a stubborn little shit?  Yep.  It’s genetic.”   

 

“Why doesn’t he believe me?  He can hear I’m telling the truth.”  Frustration rips through him and his fists clench and release over and over as he fights the urge to punch something.  Punch it hard and make his knuckles bruise and the bones in his hands and wrists ache with the force of it.

 

“He knows you **_believe_** you’re telling the truth.”  She qualifies.  "Belief is a powerful thing Stiles and you've got it in spades."

 

“Christ.. Laura this is impossible.”  Stiles mutters helplessly and gasps in fright as a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye has him instinctively reeling back, Laura throws herself in front of him her eyes huge and flashing bright gold.  Derek reaches for Stiles, his hands passing through his sister with a loud enraged snarl.

 

“STOP SAYING HER NAME.”  Derek roars and Stiles staggers at the power.

 

“Derek.. NO.”  Laura cries out desperately, her voice resonating, pouring into all the nooks and crannies of the loft before it’s abruptly cut off as she disintegrates, becoming a long sinuous trail of smoke and vapour that fades away.

 

Derek’s wolfed out, his fangs are long and gleam brilliantly white as he gnashes at the air.  His claws hook into the front of Stiles’ hoodie and he’s roughly hauled into Derek’s body, so hard that it knocks all the air out of him as their torso’s clash together.  Stiles gasps, can feel the racking tremors that run through the wolf.  Wild electric blue eyes blaze down at him in fury and for one bleak, despairing moment Stiles feels that maybe this is it.  Derek Hale’s been pushed too far and Stiles is the one who’s going to be left shattered and broken.

 

“Why are you doing this to me?”  Derek rasps out hoarsely, he’s so close, practically nose to nose that Stiles can feel his hot panting breath against his lips making them tingle before the wolf’s roughly pushing him away.  Even though Stiles falls back onto the floor with a bruising thump, he knows that Derek still reined in his strength.  If he wanted to the wolf could hurt him badly. 

 

“Stop this.. I can’t.. not you.”  An excited shiver chases down Stiles’ spine at the wolf’s broken, pleading tone and furious at himself he turns it into a guilty shudder.  He’s so fucked up.

 

The wounded look in Derek’s eyes as he stands above him has Stiles’ stomach clenching painfully tight, then tighter again.  His fingers curl, nails cutting deep into the flesh of his palms.  He wants to bleed.  To let out the pain that’s swirling through him as he witnesses the bleak look of despair that Derek gives him.  The wolf moving like a storm through the loft, intent on destroying all in its path.  

 

Stiles counts his blessings that it didn’t include him as Derek smashes his fists into the solid oak table beneath the window, over and over.  It doesn’t take much to demolish it in his fury, until the werewolf’s left standing in the moonlight over little more than sticks for kindling, chest heaving and his Henley starting to show dark patches of sweat along his spine and down his sides.

 

Derek’s obviously in so much emotional agony that Stiles aches for him.  Somehow, he finds himself on his feet and he’s standing behind the wolf so close that he could reach out and touch him and Stiles doesn’t fight the impulse, stretches out his hand towards the rigid back in front of him, his fingers hovering uncertainly over the length of his spine before he moves them to clasp Derek’s shoulder. 

 

For one moment the tension is so powerful, so tautly wired throughout Derek’s body that Stiles almost lets his hand drop away, but instinct has him hanging on, and he lets all the compassion that he feels for what the man’s going through surge to the forefront of all the conflicting emotions and feelings that he’s been experiencing tonight.  If Derek can scent hurt feelings then he can surely scent when someone cares for him, needs to comfort him, and Stiles lets his fingertips press into the hot flesh and bone under his touch and feels wild exhilaration tempered with relief when Derek shudders and surrenders.  His body goes limp and his head hangs wearily.

 

“You know I wouldn’t.. don’t you?  I may joke around, but never ever on things that would hurt.  Not like this.”  Stiles can hear how shaky his voice is and he’s startled to realise that he’s actually trembling in reaction.  His hold on Derek the only thing keeping him grounded.  He desperately needs the other man to believe him.

 

“I know Stiles.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to scare you.”  Derek speaks so low that Stiles strains to hear him.  He turns towards Stiles his eyes downcast as he says intently.  “This thing is trying to divide us and it’s working.  Don’t listen to it Stiles.. it can’t be Laura.  It can’t, because she’s gone.”

 

Laura appears from nowhere on Derek’s other side and rubs her hand over her brow, eyes screwed up in thought.  “I know tell him this—“

 

“Shut up.”  Stiles growls out protectively.  “Just—“  He holds up his hand and Laura falls silent as he stands at Derek’s  side feeling the grief radiate from the werewolf almost as powerfully as the heat his body’s supercharged metabolism generates.   

 

They stand there, each caught up in their own thoughts and feelings.  

 

A human, a werewolf and a ghost. 

 

It sounds like the start of a joke, but it’s not the least bit funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Stiles' mobile phone contacts list:
> 
> BB – Big Bad - Derek  
> BE – Bullseye – Allison  
> DWOS – Douche without scarf - Scott  
> DWS – Douche with scarf – Isaac  
> HDH – Hot Dad Hunter – Chris  
> HG - Hoodoo Guru – Deaton  
> MP – Madam President – Lydia  
> M2 – Mom 2 – Melissa  
> WTB – Where’s the beef - Dad


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Derek ever believe that Laura is back? Stiles is starting to have his doubts. In the meantime, he has his own question that he hopes Laura Hale can answer for him.

 

Stiles’ eyes go big and round as he listens.  “I’m not calling him that.”

 

He shakes his head vehemently, there are just some things that he’d prefer not to get his throat torn out over and this would be one of them.  As it’s Derek and after the restraint he’s just shown, if he’s using his teeth he probably wouldn’t tear it out completely, maybe kinda gnaw on it a little.

 

It’s just he and Laura in the main room of the loft.  Derek walked away without a word, through the huge hole in the wall about two minutes ago and quietly shut the bathroom door behind him.  Stiles can hear the old building’s water pipes screech under pressure as the wolf obviously turns on a tap.

 

“Stiles.”  Laura whines.  “He’ll know it’s me, it’s a joke between us.  Only us.”

 

“No.”  He says forcefully.  Determined to stay firm.

 

“Please Stiles.”  Laura’s face is so hopeful and looking at him like he’s the answer to all her prayers and he can’t ignore it.  Curse his parents and their outdated notions of chivalry and being a gentleman, honestly who raises their kids like that these days.

 

“Damn it.. alright, alright.  If he tears my throat out **_I’m_** gonna haunt **_you_** in your afterlife.”  He sits down on the couch, feeling shaky and his legs are weak.

 

Undefined emotions roll within him, his belly tightens with cramps as Stiles tries to work up the courage to ask the one question that’s been at the back of his mind since he realised that Laura Hale.. ‘dead’ Laura Hale was here in front of him and able to answer it. 

 

“So..”  He begins anxiously, eyes darting around the room, fingers twining in the cord of his hoodie.  “You’ve been here all the time?”

 

Laura sits on the table in front of him, close but not so close that the chill of her presence affects him.  Warily, she nods, silver eyes watching him speculatively.

 

“Have you ever..?”  Stiles begins before his voice trails off with nerves, not sure if he really wants to know or not.  Laura watches him curiously.

 

“What Stiles?  Do you want to know who I’ve seen naked, or having special alone time, or who’s hooking up with who and how.. I’ve seen it all, unfortunately, so don’t be shy.. its never stopped you before.  Ask away.”  Stiles can feel his mouth is gaping from where his jaw is touching the floor as he tries to process everything she just said. 

 

“I’ve seen all the booty worth seeing and Stiles..”  He leans forward in his seat ready to hear all the secrets that she’s seen and heard.  “.. nice booty.”  Laura waggles her eyebrows at him so lecherously that he can’t control the blush that heats his face.

 

She snickers and leans back on her hands, legs stretched out and her booted foot taps the toe of his Converse.  When he moves his foot, she follows tapping it again and he sees she’s watching him with a raised eyebrow as if daring him to complain.  Stiles rolls his eyes.  He’s so glad he doesn’t have sisters.

 

“I don’t want to know about that.”  He pauses for a moment.  Who is he kidding?  “At this time anyway, and.. I.. my uhm..you think it’s nice?”

 

Laura smirks.  “Yep.  I’m not the only one who thinks so either.” 

 

Before he can ask who she’s talking about, her mood changes and she waves at him to continue, her tone more serious.

 

“So what do you want to know?”

 

“Uhm.. have you seen anyone else.. uh.. like you?”  The words tumble out of his mouth and he clasps his hands together, clenching them tight, not entirely sure of what answer he’s hoping to hear.

 

“You mean other ghosts?”  Stiles nods his head stiffly.  “Yeah.. there’s heaps lurking around Beacon Hills in general, but there’s a few spots that are too crowded for my liking.. the hospital, the cemetery, the supermarket so I tend to steer clear of them.”

 

“The supermarket?”  It’s distracting enough that it turns his focus away from that one question he needs to ask.  It’s one of the last places he’d expect to be haunted, but thinking about it there’s always been a chill right around the breakfast cereal aisle.  To think that there maybe a ghost looking longingly at the Cheerios or Lucky Charms does his head in.

 

“It’s a food thing.  We maybe dead and can’t eat, but it doesn’t stop the cravings you know.”  She sighs longingly.  “It's not like we're starving or anything just.. what I wouldn’t give for a Hershey’s bar or some Reese’s cups.”

 

Stiles gets that, he loves Reese’s too.  “So, you’re not bound to a place obviously, but what about a person?” 

 

“No.  It’s not like that, I choose to stay with Derek.  I could go off and do my own thing, but I think you’d find that most of **_us_** tend to stick close to family or friends.”  She shrugs her shoulders.  “I could’ve stayed with Cora if I wanted, but she doesn’t need me like that.”

 

“And he does?”  It’s hard to fathom that the outwardly snarky, ill-tempered werewolf needs someone to be with him, to look out for him.  When he thinks about tonight and Derek’s reaction to so many things.. his care after Stiles had passed out, his grief for Laura, his furious despair in the mistaken belief that Stiles had been pranking him.. the signs are all there that Derek Hale is so much more than an angry pair of eyebrows. 

 

Her eyes soften as she looks across to the hole in the wall.  “She’s tougher than Derek.  Harder.  Underneath, he’s more gentle than you know Stiles.  He cares.. he cares so much that sometimes I’m afraid for him.” 

 

She shakes her head, eyes sad even though she laughs lightly.  “Did you know that when he was about 9 he tried to become a vegetarian?  Told Mom he didn’t want to eat meat anymore because he didn’t want to hurt any animals.”

 

A vegetarian werewolf.  Stiles snickers.  He’s seen the way the wolves eat and it’s about 90% red meat.  He thinks it’s a biological imperative to eat so much protein, that it helps with maintaining their high metabolism and the drain on their bodies from changing back and forth between human and beta forms.  “How long did that last?”

 

“About three days, until we woke up about 2.30 one morning because of all the noise coming from the kitchen.  He’d gone through the fridge and was flat on his back on the floor in a meat coma.  His belly was so big and round.”  She smirks.  “I kept telling him he was going to give birth to a food baby.”

 

From the far-off look in her silver eyes Stiles can tell she’s back in the Hale’s kitchen teasing her little brother.  She snorts and it’s a curiously infectious sound as Stiles finds himself grinning back at her picturing a mini-me version of Derek on the floor.

 

“He couldn’t roll over.. like a turtle put on its back.”  She says and he laughs outright at that image and when that dies away the quiet between them isn’t uncomfortable.  It’s peaceful. 

 

“Can I ask you one more question?  Wait.. wait that wasn’t it.. the question I mean.  ‘Cos I’ve got another one.”  Stiles groans and rubs his face tiredly, relieved when Laura simply nods in reply.

 

 _“Haveyouseenmymom?”_   The words trip out of his mouth in such a rush that he can feel the impact from falling verbally flat on his face.

 

It takes a moment for Laura to decipher the word vomit and when she does her silver eyes go wide with understanding and sympathy.  She leans forward her hand reaching out to him, a gesture of comfort that he wishes he could feel and as if she realises its pointlessness, Laura drops it back into her lap.

 

“No, I’ve not seen her Stiles.  I think your Mom has moved on to wherever we go.. after.  Like the rest of my family has.”  Laura says softly and the unconscious breath that Stiles has been holding is released in a plume of cold white vapour into the air between them.

 

He’s torn between disappointment and relief.  “Yeah.. yeah.. that’s good right?”

 

“Yes.  I’m sure it is.” 

 

Stiles hunches over, wrapping his arms around his body tightly trying to conserve all the warmth he possibly can.  He chews on his lower lip, mulling over everything he’s discovered about life and death and in between.

 

“Is it true then, that whole unfinished business stuff?”  Laura raises her eyebrow at him.  “I know, I know.  It’s all very ‘Ghost whispery’, but do you have something you need to finish before you can go on?”  He might’ve watched an episode or two because Jennifer Love Hewitt could give him a message anytime she wanted.

 

Laura frowns, her face so intense, she looks so like Derek right at that moment that Stiles can only stare.  “I.. I don’t know Stiles.  I wish I did.  I love Derek and Cora, but I don’t belong here anymore.  I can feel it in here..”  She presses her hand to her chest.  “.. how wrong it is.”

 

There’s a terrible weight in Stiles’ own chest and he wishes that he could reach out and touch her.  Hold her hand and let his thumb stroke across the back of her knuckles in comfort.  There’s something about the women of Beacon Hills, maybe it’s in the water or the effect of the nemeton, but there’s a strength to them that makes him feel fortunate that they’ve become a part of his life.  His Mom, Melissa, Lydia, Allison, Erica, Cora and now Laura.

 

“I wish I’d met your Mom.”  Her children are survivors and Stiles tries to imagine what Talia Hale was like as a mother and as an Alpha that she raised them to keep fighting against all odds. 

 

“She’d like you.”  Stiles jerks when he hears the masculine voice.  Derek stands in the gaping hole in the wall, leaning his shoulder against the brickwork.  Laura vanishes from in front of him, only to reappear at Derek’s side.  “She’d like how you try and take care of everyone.  Even me.”

 

A rush of heat scorches Stiles’ cheeks.

 

“He’s not wrong Stiles.  Mom would like you, you’re good for him.”  Laura shadows Derek as he moves into the huge open loft space towards the huge windows once more.  He wonders what the wolf sees when he looks out into the night.

 

He’s obviously been in the bathroom splashing water onto his face as Stiles can see that the collar of Derek’s Henley is damp and there’s a few drops of water caught in the stubble of his beard.  His fingers tingle with an itch to bury themselves into that rasp of hair on Derek’s jawline and brush away those drops.    

 

It’s hurting him, there’s no doubt in Stiles’ mind that Derek’s going through agony as fresh as when it first happened and Laura was murdered and gone from him.  Can he continue this knowing the pain that it’s causing?  Stiles looks at Laura and he can see from her tight expression that she’s hurting just as badly.

 

“Are you sure?”  He mouths at her and Laura looks up into her brother’s face before nodding emphatically.

 

He swallows hard and says it.  Those words that Laura assures him that Derek will instantly recognise as being from her and no one else.

 

“Little bunny foo foo.”  For one moment it echoes in the loft, the childish words breaking the silence, crashing through it with a tangible force that has Stiles sucking in a sharp, strangled breath.

 

Derek whips around so hard and fast that Stiles cringes.  He stalks over, reaches down and grabs him by the front of his hoodie and hauls Stiles up onto his feet and even though they are near enough the same height it feels as though Derek looms over him.  He looks at him so fiercely, his eyes piercingly wolf blue and Stiles prepares to die or at the very least get severely mauled going by the tension that has Derek’s face looking so harsh.

 

“I think we’ve done this part already.”  Oh God, somebody stop him.  His mouth seems to run on autopilot and it’s like he’s asking for a good old fashioned maiming.

 

“What did you say?”  Derek growls out, so low and guttural that Stiles can barely understand him.  He can feel his heart thundering under his breastbone, threatening to crack a few ribs at the intensity of its beat.

 

“You know.. little bunny foo foo, hopping through the forest, scooping up the field mice to bop them on the head.”   Stiles sing songs the children’s rhyme his voice cracking, badly out of tune, and watches in horror as the wolf lets him go, his claws splaying wide in release as Derek hunches over and falls to his knees in front of him.  His dark head hangs so low his chin is touching his chest and his shoulders shake.  He looks broken.

 

Without thought Stiles is down on his knees beside him wrapping his arms around the other man, as far around and as tight as they can go, rocking their bodies with every heaving sob the wolf makes.  Derek presses his face into Stiles’ chest, mashing it in hard.

 

“It’s okay.”  Stiles whispers against Derek’s soft dark hair.  He can feel the wolf’s fingers scrabbling at him, clutching at his hoodie, tangling in the fabric and pulling him close.  Derek lifts his head and Stiles can see that his eyes are perfectly dry which isn’t what he expected at all, though they are red-rimmed and filled with pain, underlying that is a desperate longing and undeniable hope.

 

“No it’s not.”  Derek’s voice is harsh and broken.  “I was 11 when she came up with that nickname for me because of my front teeth.  You know.. right at that age when you start to wonder if other people like you.. if they think you’re attractive.  I hated her for it and now—“ 

 

His voice catches and a primal sound emerges from deep within Derek that is so heartbroken and filled with grief that Stiles has to bite his lip hard to stop from joining in and wailing right beside him.  He feels for the boy that Derek was, recognises the same questions he’d asked of himself going through puberty and beyond.  He aches for the man he is today, the hurting wounded young man who misses his family so badly that he’s taking comfort from a spazzy, teenage boy.  Stiles tightens his hold until his arms and shoulders ache, but he doesn’t let go.  It takes a long time for Derek to quieten. 

 

“Oh Derek.”  Laura sounds just as shattered as the man in his arms.  Stiles belatedly realises that she’s crouched down next to them, hovering protectively, not able to properly comfort the brother she loves so much that not even death could pull her away from him. 

 

“It’s really her, isn’t it?”  Derek’s face is pressed hard into Stiles’ throat and he can just make out the muffled words, hot breath against his skin and he barely manages to stifle a groan.

 

“Yes.  Yes it is.”  Stiles meets Laura’s eyes over the top of Derek’s head and she gives him a watery smile.

 

“Of all the things.. me being so mean to him is what makes him believe.”  Guilt clouds her eyes and the line of her mouth is tremulous as she observes them both.  “I thought it was a joke.  I didn’t know it hurt him so bad, he never said.. always gave back as good as he got.  What kind of person does that to their kid brother, Stiles?  What does that make me?”

 

“Human.”  Stiles says as he strokes the back of Derek’s head and lets the silky strands of his hair slip between his fingers.  His lips quirk slightly.  “With optional extras of course.”

 

Laura’s mouth twists into a little smile, although her eyes remain shadowed.  She watches him comfort Derek, his hand sliding over and through his hair.  Stiles can feel Derek relax, his body a heavy weight leaning into his.

 

“Stiles.. if I may.”  Laura points at his hand and Stiles wonders what she intends when the delicate skin around her eyes goes tight and a little furrow appears between her dark eyebrows.  There’s pure concentration on her face when she places her hand over his and slowly hers sinks into his flesh.  She pulls it out quickly and Stiles gapes open mouthed, he can feel the chill of her touch in his very bones.  “I think with your help I can touch him.”

 

Silver eyes ask for permission and Stiles can’t deny her or Derek the chance even though he’s slightly freaked out, he nods his head stiffly.

 

“Thank you.  Thank you.”  Her voice is pitching wildly with excitement.

 

“Just my hand right?”  Stiles asks.

 

“Yes, I don’t think you could cope with anymore.  The cold could very well kill you.”  Laura’s tone is deadly serious and he’s grateful she’s concerned with his welfare too.

 

Slowly Stiles draws back from Derek and feels the chill of Laura down his right side as she kneels beside him.

 

“Stiles?”  Derek sounds lost, his voice soft in the huge room and instinctively Stiles hushes him.  The wolf somehow looks small and fragile in front of him and Stiles’ heart aches for him.  Instinctively he reaches out and cups the bearded jawline, enjoys the gentle rasp of stubble against his palm, his thumb gently sweeping over the high cheekbone brushing back and forth.  Derek sighs and pushes his face into Stiles’ hand, his eyes fluttering closed.

 

Slowly, carefully Laura holds her hand above his for one fraction of a moment as though anticipating him pulling away and changing his mind.  He holds his nerve, because the thought of someone taking control of his body is terrifying, and yet he may have only known her for what.. a few hours, but he instinctively trusts her. 

 

His hand feels like it’s been dipped in ice it’s so numb.  He watches in fascination as his fingers flex and stretch and he’s not conscious of having any control over the wayward digits.  Laura laughs giddily and her happiness is intoxicating and Stiles smiles in return.

 

“I can feel him Stiles.  I can touch him.”  She strokes her brother’s cheek over and over and her mood rapidly shifts and becomes more sombre.

 

“Stiles tell him I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that the last time I touched him was a punch.  Sorry that I didn’t get to tell him I love him one more time to his face.  Sorry that I didn’t listen and left him behind in New York.”

 

Stiles can only stare at her for the longest time because he can’t speak.  His throat is tight and he feels like he’s being strangled on a knot of emotion.

 

“Please Stiles.”  Stiles repeats what she said in a rasping, shaky voice and he can see Derek shudder even though he can’t feel it through the fingertips that are pressed against the wolf’s face. 

 

“I’m sorry I said that you weren’t the Alpha Mom was.”  Derek opens his eyes and even though Stiles knows that he still can’t see her, somehow unerringly they shift to where Laura kneels beside him, he nuzzles his cheek then his nose into Stiles’ open palm and inhales deeply.  His eyes flare wolf blue and Derek keens faintly in his throat.

 

“I can smell you.”  Derek shifts restlessly on his haunches as he grabs Stiles’ arm and holds him firmly with both hands, letting his nose run over the skin of Stiles’ hand and wrist where they are merged.  Even though he can’t feel it simply witnessing Derek’s nose and mouth trailing over his skin makes Stiles’ pants feel tighter. 

 

“She’s using my hand to touch you.”  Stiles breathes the words out hesitantly.  Derek stares hard at him.  Inhaling deeply, the wolf's face crumples in delight.

 

“Laura, I can scent you.  I can scent you.”  The excitement in Derek’s voice is intoxicating and Stiles can feel his mouth stretch wide, smiling it feels endlessly at the joy that lights up the kaleidoscope of colours swirling in the wolf’s irises.

 

Derek pauses and lets his fingers brush over the back of Stiles’ hand as he clasps it tight to his jaw and cheek.  Concern flickers across his face. 

 

“You’re too cold Stiles.  Laura you need to stop.” 

 

“No, no I can go a bit longer.”  Stiles in truth can’t feel his hand at all, but seeing the happiness on the faces of the two Hales was worth it.

 

“Your fingertips are turning blue.”  Derek growls matter of factly.

 

Laura pulls away, but it’s like she’s been stuck to him with taffy or tar, the ectoplasm or whatever she’s made of stretches thin and becomes almost transparent.  Just call him Brer Stiles.  With one hard pull, Laura forcibly yanks her hand free and looks at Stiles with anxious eyes. 

 

“I’ve only done this a couple of times and that’s not happened before.”

 

“What hasn’t?”  He whispers.

 

“It’s like something was holding me to you.  Like it had latched on and didn’t want me to leave.”

 

 A chill chases down Stiles’ spine and he flexes his hand over and over trying to get the warmth of his circulation to reach his fingernails. 

 

“Something?”  Fear churns in his gut, a heavy weight coiling tighter and tighter.

 

“What’s going on Stiles?  What’s happening?”  Derek growls in frustration at only hearing one side of the conversation.  “Tell me.”

 

“Tell us.”  Laura asks.

 

Stiles shivers, looks down at his icy hand that Derek grabs and holds it between both of his, warming it up with his higher body temperature.

 

“They’re just dreams.”  He swallows hard, recalling the fear he experiences every time he slips into one of these nightmares.  Derek tips his head back and his nostrils flare wide as he inhales deeply.  His eyes flash blue.

 

“And sometimes they’re not.. sometimes they’re more.”  Laura says. 

 

“Stiles, you reek of fear.”  Derek growls threateningly and Stiles is pretty sure that it’s not directed at him.  “What are you afraid of?”

 

“What happens in these dreams?”  Laura ducks her head and doesn’t let him hide as he tries to avert his eyes from hers.

 

“It comes.”  Stiles fiercely clutches at Derek’s strong warm hand, almost afraid that talking about the thing that’s lurking in his dreams is going to bring it here.  Here, where people he cares about are.

 

Stiles looks blindly around the loft, his eyes lingering on the shadows, searching the darkness.  Through the huge windows he can see that the moon has moved lower following its path.  Which means it’s far later than what he’d realised. 

 

Frantically, he pulls out his phone from his pocket and with a swipe of his thumb checks the time.  Dread creeps over him, thick and choking as he looks at the screen.

 

02.50am.

 

He looks at the Hales in horror.  There’s only ten minutes until he’s sucked back into the nightmare.

 

The dead hour is here.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams and nightmares. What's real and what's imagined? Stiles isn't too sure anymore, the only thing he is sure of is the presence of Derek and Laura Hale and how strangely, wonderfully comforting it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while - I'm sorry about that. I had the most shattering, devastating news out of the blue about a very dear friend's health and it left me unable to write a single word for about a month, severely blocked and uninspired. The only thing that kept me going is reading - reading the works coming into this fandom, both new and WIP, and they helped reignite the spark. 
> 
> This chapter contains some dialogue and the echo of a scene from Teen Wolf S3B ep 13 - "Anchors", you'll know it when you see it. This version has the right characters together I think.
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments regarding this fic - I so appreciate every single one.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

Stiles’ eyes snap open and he sits up panting, dragging burning, heaving breaths into his chest which feels like it’s either on fire or he’s just endured a ‘Finstock special’ of double suicides.  Clutching at the neckline of his t-shirt with one shaking fist, he pulls it away from his overheated body, skin damp and clammy with a sour taint. 

 

It’s not from the primal fear of the dark that paralyses him in his nightmares, this smells and feels like the fear of loss.  That someone he cares about is in imminent danger.  What’s made his heart beat so fast in his chest, made it strain and hammer away against his ribcage?  Whatever it is, the threat can only be targeted at one of the small select group of people he cares about. 

 

Logic tells him that surely it’s his Dad that he’s afraid for, but curiously all that comes to mind is Derek and his stomach churns, emptiness rolling sickly within his belly at the thought of the wolf being hurt or worse.  A shiver quickly follows, rippling down his spine because inextricably entwined with his thoughts of Derek are of all things his sister, Laura. 

 

His **_dead_** sister.

 

What the hell? 

 

Confusion muddles his mind and he rubs his eyes, wishing he could push his fingers deeper into his sockets and press onto that spot in his brain that would unmuddle it.  That it would make some sort of sense out of all these random puzzle pieces.  The last thing he recalls is a vague, hazy memory of the Hale siblings talking to him as he sits on the couch in Derek’s loft. 

 

Not that he recalls what they’re saying.  In that dreamlike way it’s a soft background murmuring, like they’re talking underwater, all pitch and tone, no discernible words.  Derek and Laura stand behind him and a large warm hand squeezes the back of his neck in comfort and strangely he remembers **_it is_** comforting and the next moment.. pain, cold and piercing, skewering into him through a number of points on his nape.  Then nothing.  Not until he’d woken up in his own bed, thankfully not screaming his throat raw this time.

 

Lifting an unsteady hand, Stiles runs his fingers over the back of his neck.  Goosebumps shiver over his skin, but there’s nothing there, the flesh unmarked and unblemished, yet a residual flicker of pain shoots through him as his fingers brush over the spot and he grits his teeth.

 

It’s just too weird to be anything but a dream.  A very real, whacked out one for sure, the sort that Freud would have hours of fun dissecting all the suppressed meanings within it.  All the latent yearnings for things that he daren’t look at too closely, yet still have the power to make the muscles in his belly go tight and quivery.

 

He looks about the room.  Even though there are no lights switched on there’s just enough moonlight filtering through the slats of the window blinds to illuminate it so he can see.  His bedroom.  It’s bathed in shades of blue and grey, darker shadows in the corners.  The bedroom door is closed and a huffing sigh of relief escapes him.  Strange dream or not it’s different to all the other terrible ones he’s had of late and he feels warm and bizarrely safe, which he hasn’t felt in such a long time in his room.  Hope runs deep within him.  Maybe tonight it’ll be different.

 

“You okay?”  A masculine voice from beside him makes him meep in shock as a large, dark shape sits up next to him.  The filtered light reveals the beautifully sculpted jawline and high cheekbones of Derek Hale’s face and Stiles gurgles incomprehensibly at the sight, his higher brain functions seriously impaired as Derek leans in close, his hand running over Stiles’ arm comfortingly.  “Stiles?”

 

The concerned demand in Derek’s voice has him responding almost automatically.  “Yeah.. I was just dreaming.  It was weird..”

 

Stiles trails off, nearly swallowing his tongue as he examines him closer, because.. holy crap.. he’s in bed with Derek Hale.  He can’t look away.  Can’t look away from Derek who’s wearing a white wifebeater that makes Stiles’ dick twitch in his pyjama bottoms as it shows off the planes and ridges of his muscled chest and broad shoulders.  Can’t look away from Derek who is currently rubbing his big warm hand all over Stiles’ arm below the short sleeve of his t-shirt and while the wolf’s intentions maybe to soothe it’s sending zinging pulses of pleasure through his central nervous system threatening to overheat and short circuit his brain. 

 

He needs to think, damn it. 

 

Stiles places his hand over the top of Derek’s, to still that distracting, tormenting movement and hold him there as he tries to understand what’s happening.  His senses belatedly go on line with a hypervigilance that leaves him twitching uncontrollably and eyes flickering randomly around the room like he’s gone into Adderall withdrawal. 

 

The oversensitivity has him panting through his slack open mouth, shockingly aware of the long line of Derek’s leg against his, the warmth of it seeping into his flesh.  It’s just so hard to concentrate when he’s actually got someone in his bed with him for the first time ever.  Yeah hard.. real hard and he clenches his other hand into a fist, twisting the bedsheets, trying to stop the urge to palm himself and ease the clawing ache that has settled deep in his groin.  If Derek’s here.. have they.. did they.. do stuff?  He gulps down air into suddenly starving lungs and tells himself to cool it otherwise he’s gonna blow a gasket and it’s not gonna be pretty.

 

“Wait a sec.. Derek.. what are you doing here?”  He manages to rasp out.

 

Derek tilts his head assessingly, his gaze sweeping over Stiles’ features with an intensity that has him clamping down on all the major muscle groups that want to shiver helplessly in response, because he’s not that big a pushover.  Really he’s not.

 

“Don’t you remember?”  Derek asks softly.   “You came to my loft tonight.”

 

“No I didn’t.”  Stiles blurts out, looking away.  It’s instinctive to deny it, to deny that he can’t for the life of him remember exactly what’s happened.  He daren’t look into the wolf’s face, but from the little snort followed by the loudest silence he’s never heard, it’s not too hard to guess that he’s letting his eyebrows do all the talking for him at the moment. 

 

“Okay maybe I did.”  Stiles concedes.  “But, I remember Laura being there too and that can’t be.”  He whispers solemnly, lifting his gaze to see Derek’s glittering eyes piercing the gloom and roam over his face, examining him so closely that it takes him a full minute to realise that the other man’s hand is gripping his bicep tighter as though he’s afraid he may try to escape.  

 

Is he insane? 

 

Stiles’ skin feels suddenly two sizes too small for his frame as pure want ripples through him and he can hear Derek hiss faintly, can tell that the wolf can feel his shivering reaction by the sudden pricking of claws into his flesh. 

 

“Sorry, sorry.”  Derek whispers gruffly at Stiles’ whimper, but he doesn’t let go, although his claws do retract.

 

“Derek I—“  Stiles’ stops abruptly because what can he say.  He’s sitting in the dark with Derek in his bed, skin crawling with the overwhelming need to feel the other man’s touch.  He doesn’t care if it’s feather-light and gentle, rough and demanding or even edged with claws, he just needs it with a hunger that shreds his self-control and carelessly rips away his pride and throws it on the altar of permanent embarrassment if it all goes terribly, horribly wrong. 

 

“Stiles.”  Derek’s voice is a low hush of encouragement and Stiles feels Derek drawing him in closer or maybe it’s him.  Maybe he’s leaning in towards the warmth of the other man’s body all by himself because he can’t seem to look away from Derek’s mouth.  It’s a pull that tugs at something deep in his belly, one that can’t be ignored.  One that he doesn’t want to ignore.  The wolf’s lips are slightly parted and his tongue flickers over his full lower lip, moistening it temptingly and madness seizes Stiles’ brain at the sight.  There’s a buzzing in his ears and white light flickers at the edges of his vision and somehow between one moment and the next he’s smashing his mouth against Derek’s. 

 

Eyes wide open, Stiles stares into Derek’s shocked, but increasingly heavy lidded ones.  The kiss is close-mouthed, hard and unyielding.  Wincing, he wishes he could go slower as his own teeth press and cut into the delicate tissues inside his mouth, but he can’t stop.. just can’t, because it’s their first kiss.  It’s a heated rush and so obviously inexperienced on his part and Stiles knows he’ll be mortified when he looks back at it, but for all that it’s good.  So very, very good and it burns hot and bright, sending flames throughout his body, head to toe he’s being licked by fire with the sweet pressure and the rasp of stubble against his sensitive skin.  Just as he hears a little moan rise from Derek’s throat echoing his own and their lips start to soften and open, the feminine voice coming out of the shadows startles him.  Goosebumps pop out along his arms like a wave as Stiles recognises it.

 

“Sorry to be a cockblock sweetcheeks, but you’re wrong about me.”  His desk lamp flicks on and Stiles jerks back lifting a hand to shield his eyes, blinking rapidly, half-blinded, before they adjust and he can see Laura Hale sitting on his desk chair.  Swivelling back and forth, she smiles wickedly, her eyebrows waggling dangerously at him.  “I’m baaack.”

 

Rapping her knuckles on the top of his desk, the thud of bone against wood sounds especially loud.  “And I’m as good as new baby.  Don’t need to lose all my brain cells concentrating on touching stuff.” 

 

Her laugh is light and pleased sounding, it makes him want to smile back at her.  In truth he’s gaping as the proof of her reality echoes in his head.  It wasn’t a dream.  It was all real. 

 

Stiles darts a quick nervous look at the man beside him.  The tension pouring off Derek is tangible, an anxiety different to the sexual one he’d felt pressing against him before.  Derek’s body is so on edge, so taut that Stiles is afraid he’s going to snap something.  The wolf’s eyes are fixed and unblinking on the young woman sitting at his desk and it takes Stiles a moment for the sharp sting of realisation to wake him up to the fact that Derek can actually see and hear her. 

 

“Laura.”  The wolf’s voice is thick and he sounds almost like he’s being strangled.  Stiles doesn’t even have a chance to blink, their movements are too quick for him to track with his weak human eyes.  He can only feel the sickening dip and bounce of his mattress, see the results of the frantic flurry of bedsheets and flying limbs encased in black yoga pants in the way their bodies crash together.

 

Sitting on his bed, Stiles almost feels like an intruder as he watches Laura and Derek Hale hold each other so tightly, so fiercely and with such emotion that his chest feels achy and his eyes sting.  Derek’s got his face pressed tight into his sister’s throat and his shoulders and back heave unsteadily as he draws in deep breaths, filling his nose and lungs with her scent.

 

Laura’s stroking Derek’s hair and kissing his cheek with a feverish urgency and Stiles knows that whatever’s going on they don’t know exactly how long they’ve got together so they’re making the most of whatever kinda miracle this is.  Plaintive whines and high pitched keening sounds of excitement evolve into low contented rumbles, their eyes flash, blue and gold.  Beautiful. 

 

He can’t describe the feeling of seeing the bond that’s between them knowing that it’s one forged stronger and fiercer through surviving the murder of their family and the years when they were all they had in the world to one another.  It’s beyond words, it’s a purely visceral response and he wishes with all his might that he had the power to make this moment last forever for them both.

 

Finally, Laura cups Derek’s face and leans back so she can look into it and the expression on her face when her brother bows his head, closes his eyes and turns away breaks Stiles’ heart for both of them. 

 

“Don’t.”  Derek chokes out.  “Don’t look at me.”

 

“You can’t forgive me then.”  She whispers sadly, stroking his stubbled jaw.  “For leaving you.”

 

Derek shakes his head frantically, denying it, eyes snapping open wide and glistening staring at her with such longing and uncertainty, his lips slightly part as though to speak and not a word passes them.  Stiles has never seen this level of open vulnerability so clearly, so starkly on anyone’s face before in his life.  This is born of such profound pain and suffering that to witness it is to feel it intimately and he lifts his clenched fist to his mouth to bite down on the knuckle and stifle the awful sound that’s trying to crawl its way out of his chest and up his throat.

 

“I—“  Derek begins, voice brittle and rasping.  He clears his throat before starting again, hoarsely.  “I need to tell you something.”

 

“No—“

 

“Yes.. yes I do.”  His voice is stronger now, bitter and determined as he cuts her off.  “It was my fault.”

 

Derek huffs out a long breath.  “I killed them.”

 

Stiles’ stomach twists into knots and he desperately wants to throw up at Derek’s matter-of-fact confession.  For the first time he curses his ability to easily see the hidden patterns and clues from things Derek’s let slip over time, the police reports and witness accounts, some of them, namely Peter’s, being extremely unreliable.  He’d put the pieces together a while ago about Kate and the fire, but to hear Derek take the blame for what that woman did makes him feel nauseated and vengeful. 

 

“I killed them Lor.”  Derek repeats faintly, his tone thin and reedy, almost child-like.  A scared and lonely child.

 

Laura’s face is stern and unforgiving as she cups her brother’s jawline.  Her gaze steady and unwavering when she suddenly pulls back and slaps his cheek with a loud crack and Stiles swears under his breath, wincing as he imagines the sting.  Derek starts to recoil backwards, his face pale, the imprint of Laura’s hand red and stark on his skin before it fades away quicker than the actual sound of skin connecting with skin.  She grabs hold of his shoulders stopping him from moving away.

 

“Then we both did.  I don’t want to hear that fucking shit from you again.”  Laura growls angrily as she hauls him in close.  Derek shakes his head in denial and Laura presses her thumb over his lips as they part to speak.  “That first break from College, I came home and I knew something wasn’t right.  You were too quiet, didn’t smile as often and so easily anymore and your scent.. even though you hid it well enough from Mom and Dad, it was all confused.  Not happy, but not completely sad either and all laced with sex and bitterness.”

 

“I thought it was the usual teenage bullshit, the three H’s.  Horny, horrible and hormonal.  But, I should’ve asked you, not waited for you to come to me like you usually did with your problems.. should’ve said something to Mom.. I should’ve done something.”  Her mouth quivers.

 

“After—“  Her voice breaks and she swallows hard, once then twice before continuing.  “I didn’t know you carried all this guilt.  The nightmares every night, they weren’t just of the fire were they?  They were of her too.”

 

A noise comes from Derek’s throat, a pained and broken sound.  “You knew?”

 

Derek’s shoulders slump heavily and he looks on the verge of collapsing and Stiles can feel the muscles in his legs and arms coil ready to spring up and catch him if he falls.

 

“Not then.. later—“  Laura’s eyes blaze furiously wolf gold.  “When she had you in chains.. torturing you, what she said, I could see that hurt more than anything she was doing to you physically.  It wasn’t hard to put it together.”

 

Derek tries to jerk away, but Laura holds him stubbornly in place. 

 

“You saw that?”  Derek shakes his head refuting it as he groans in anguish, deep and pain filled.  “How can you bear to look at me?  Our family died because I was stupid enough to let her play me.. to believe that she loved—“  His mouth snaps shut, to Stiles’ ears he sounds broken.  Derek’s cheeks are wet.  Wild and desperate, his eyes search the room frantically for an escape only his sister won’t let him go.

 

“Der, do you really think I’d ever turn away from you?  I’ve stayed with you, stood by you because you’re my brother and I love you.”  Laura’s fingers curl into the material of his wifebeater, anchoring herself to him.

 

Derek stills and shakes his head in disbelief.  “How can you?”

 

“There’s nothing that could make me love you less.  Do you remember when that bitch was torturing you?  Do you remember how you felt?”  Laura pleads and it seems that Derek’s not immune to it as little furrows appear on his forehead, ones that make Stiles’ fingers itch to smooth them out, to rub over them until they disappear.

 

“Was cold.  So cold.. started to go numb.”  Derek’s eyelashes flutter as he blinks rapidly at the memory. “A relief really.”

 

“She was electrocuting you, your internal organs were cooking and she wasn’t letting you heal for long enough between each shock she gave you and all I could do was watch.”  She waggles her fingers in front of his face.  “You may have noticed that it gets pretty chilly around me, particularly when I’m pissed, even being a werewolf if I touched you for long enough I could probably kill you, but with what she was doing it stopped her from frying you right in front of me.”

 

“You should’ve let her.. too many people have paid for my mistakes.”  He snarls at Laura fiercely.  She blinks rapidly and her fingers clutch at Derek as all her blustery swagger disappears. 

 

“I thought she was going to kill you and.. I couldn’t bear it.  I maybe dead, but not you.  Not you. You’re pack, you’re family..”  Laura growls harshly.  “You’re my fucking beta.” 

 

She pushes into his arms not letting anything stand in her way of wrapping herself around Derek. 

 

“Most of all you’re my little brother.  I’m meant to look out for you.. protect you and I did a piss poor job of it.”  She presses her face into his collarbone and Derek closes his eyes and rests his cheek on the crown of her head looking strung-out and at his limit.

 

Stiles is torn.  His chest aches fiercely watching and listening to Derek and Laura, while his mouth twitches so very inappropriately, wanting to smile at the knowledge that the Hales obviously share a self-sacrificing, ‘carry the weight of the world on their shoulders’ type gene, albeit with one notable exception. 

 

He snorts involuntarily at the impossible idea of Peter Hale not being a self-serving, psychopathic douche.  Maybe he’s adopted that would explain a lot.  Or maybe he could be neutered, Stiles has heard Scott rabbit on about how it calms the temperaments of cats and dogs.  It was worth thinking about.

 

Stiles lifts his head and realises that they are both looking at him, Laura speculatively and Derek with.. fuck he has no idea what the hell that look means.  He twitches convulsively and makes a startled half wave of acknowledgement and supplication before his mouth seemingly opens without his bidding.

 

“The only one to blame is that bitch Kate Argent.”  He snarls viciously.  “I know where I’d like to electro-shock her.. right up the—“

 

“You know?”  Derek interrupts sharply and somehow he seems more appalled that Stiles knows than when he realised that Laura did and Stiles isn’t sure whether to be offended or not.  Does he think that Stiles would dare to judge him?

 

“Yeah.. I kinda put it together a little while ago.”  Stiles almost feels like he should apologise for it, Derek looks pained and his eyes shift to look at the floor with an intensity like it holds the secrets of the universe or something.

 

“Nobody else knows.”  Stiles says softly.  “I wouldn’t.. I just..no.”

 

“Thank you Stiles.”  Laura gives him a faint smile and Derek nods brusquely, still not meeting his eyes.  The silence between them is long and heavy.  Stiles’ fingers twitch uncontrollably as he twists the edge of his bedcover into a knot.

 

“So uhh.. guys.  What are you doing in my bedroom?”  He asks hesitantly.  “And how did I get here?  The last thing I remember is being in the loft.”

 

He sees it then a brief glance between the wolves, something unspoken, but nevertheless understood.

 

“Stiles.. about that..”  Laura smiles at him gently and okay now he’s fucking scared alright, because he hasn’t known her long, but it’s enough to know that it’s not good when she smiles like that.  “You’re not actually at your house.”

 

Stiles looks around him making the point, arching one eyebrow at her.  His posters ‘Spite records’, ‘All time low’.. the surfboard which he’s never used just had it poking out the back of the jeep last Summer thinking he’d pick up some chicks.. he didn’t, even though he's positive the theory's sound, the telescope.. yep the less said about that and the restraining order the better.  Yeah, he’s pretty sure this is his bedroom. 

 

“What?”  He contradicts rudely and succinctly.

 

“Stiles you’re still at the loft.”  Derek moves closer to the bed making Stiles tilt his head back and it is so not his imagination that Derek’s eyes flash blue as they seem to zero in on his throat before the wolf shakes his head slightly and rasps out.  “We all are.”

 

It doesn’t make any sense, until it suddenly does.  He wonders why it took him so long to figure it out.  Deaton’s mentioned before the various abilities of a werewolf when he’s been at one of his Yoda mentoring sessions with Scott, one of which is their ability to tap into the mind of a pack member through their claws and into the central nervous system.  It’s a more common practice by the Alpha, but if Derek had help from his sister, an ex-Alpha, then..

 

Shit.. shit.. he’s being fucking wolfie lobotomized.  Flinging off the covers Stiles stands up so quick that Derek doesn’t even have a chance to step back and he chuffs in displeasure.  Adrenalin courses through Stiles’ veins as his chest bumps into Derek’s and he reaches up to push the wolf away and freezes, staring in horror and disbelief at his hands or rather his fingers.

 

“What have you done?”  Stiles cries out, breathless with the sheer terror he feels for them. 

 

Stiles counts.. 1 2 3 4.. then again and when he still gets 12 he holds his hands up in front of Derek.

 

“You can tell when you’re dreaming.”  He mumbles hoarsely, waggling his fingers in front of the wolf’s nose.  “You have extra fingers in dreams.”

 

Fear crashes through him and he can feel his nostrils flare wide as he tries to draw air into lungs that feel paralysed.

 

“You shouldn’t be here.”  Stiles cries out at them both.  Derek tries to grab his arm and Stiles jerks back from his touch, flailing wildly.  “Go on get out of here.” 

 

He shoos at them desperately with his six-fingered hands and his stomach plummets when he hears the click of his bedroom door and its hinges creaking.  It sounds so loud Stiles has to hold his hands over his ears.  It’s open.  Wider than it was the last time and he can see through that sliver and there is nothing beyond.  His primal instincts scream at him to run and hide, his eyes welling with tears at the knowledge he will never see his Dad or his friends again, because he recognises it.  Recognises this emptiness that is trying to break down all his defences.

 

It is pure darkness, a void of light and life. 

 

Soul destroying.

 

Ice trickles through his veins, cold and sluggish making his very bones ache.  Pushing past Derek, Stiles staggers forward, he feels slow and unco-ordinated as he tries to rush to the door and press his shoulder to it, already feeling the pressure of something on the other side trying to push into the room.  Bracing his feet Stiles yells desperately back at the Hales “Get out of here.”

 

Stiles closes his eyes and bites his lips as he uses every bit of strength he has to hold the door and give them a chance to get out, when he feels a warm presence next to him.  Derek’s at his side and using his considerable muscle to push against it and then he realises Laura’s on his other side, her back completely against the door, knees bent and feet braced in front of her. 

 

“What are you doing?’  He yells at her.

 

“We’re not leaving you.” Her thighs quiver with the strain.

 

“Why the hell not?  Why did you even come here in the first place?”  Fear and frustration thread through his voice and it sounds so harsh he doesn’t recognise himself.

 

“How many times do I have to tell you.. because you’re pack Stiles.”  Derek growls into his ear.  “Our pack.”

 

A rush of warmth moves through him and he looks from one Hale to the other and is startled to realise that they have the same eyes.  That inhuman silver cast to Laura’s eyes is gone, they shine brightly at him, that incredible mix of colours of blue, green and gold shot through with a starburst of brown before Laura’s flicker to gold and Derek’s to blue, the colours of the wolf. 

 

Stiles has always thought of himself as one of Scott’s pack right from the get-go when it was a pack of two, even through times when he’s so mad at the other boy that he could scream.  He never realised that Derek considered him as one of his own and it feels good.  It feels right.  He nods at them, blinking rapidly as his eyes sting, and the knowledge that whatever happens he’s not alone, that he has a pack who will stand with him.  Even if it’s only for a short time he thinks stumbling back under the violent hammering against the wooden door coming from the other side.

 

“Ssshtilesss..”  He shivers hearing his name spoken in that harsh accented whisper.  “Hello Stiles.”

 

Laura and Derek’s faces are grim as they push back against the door and Stiles can finally admit to himself what he’s always known.  This thing whatever it is, is more than just a dream.

 

“And you’ve brought company.”  The voice curls around them scraping torturously against nerve endings with its sheer malevolence.

 

Despair weighs heavy on his shoulders, cruelly drains him.  This thing wants him and not in a good way.  It wants to own him, possess him for intentions that he can’t even begin to fathom, only knows that they would be so dark and corrupting that he would never be the same again even if he managed to overcome it later, which he seriously doubts.  He can’t let it happen.  There’s only one way.

 

“You should go and when you get out.. when you’re back in the loft..”  He stumbles finding it hard to say the words.  “I want you to kill me.”

 

“No.. Stiles.”  The fury in Derek’s voice is of a scale he’s never seen or heard before and funnily enough he’s not the least bit afraid of the wolf now.  In fact he takes comfort in that the other man seems to care for him, would maybe miss him if he was gone.

 

“If you don’t.. I.. I’m pretty sure I’m going to become something that should never, ever be allowed into our world.  I can feel it.”  He heaves a deep sighing breath, before demanding.  “Don’t hesitate.  Promise me.”

 

“Okay.”  Laura reaches up with one hand and cups his cheek.  “I promise.”

 

He may not be a werewolf, but he can tell that Laura means what she says.  She’s telling the truth.  She will kill him and he’s never been so grateful in all his life.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare has arrived. What is it going to take to defeat this monster and will they be able to endure the cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind messages regarding my friend - I really appreciate it.
> 
> I have referred to the nogitsune in this chapter as the kitsune in dialogue between the characters as they do not have all the information and time to research as they did in canon and are therefore, unaware of the term 'nogitsune' and what it means.
> 
> More dialogue heavy in this one.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

“I promise.”  Laura says again.  “Only if there’s no other choice.”

 

Derek shifts into his wolfish Beta phase faster than Stiles can blink.  Curiously hairless eyebrow ridges form, thick and heavy, over sparking electric blue eyes and long sideburns that enhance the sharp cut of his cheekbones.  Stiles can read Derek’s body language in an instant, the tension and aggression in the older man make the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end as his primal hindbrain recognises the wolf’s deadly intent to anyone it perceives as a threat to both he and his human pack mate.  

 

Derek deliberately cracks his neck, rolling it from side to side, his dripping fangs gnash and snarl furiously at his sister as he struggles to hold fast against the heavy pounding, smashing against the door.  Even though it’s not directed at him Stiles has never felt so intimidated by the older man in all the time he’s known him.  Derek’s display of fury is real.  It’s not a tactic or bravado or Alpha posturing, it’s genuine and fuelled by whatever powerful feelings Derek’s experiencing and Stiles can feel his heart race frantically in his chest at the realisation.  His pulse throbs hard and fast at his throat.  If there were time, he’d swoon for all his worth.

 

“Just try it.”  Derek snorts out, anger thickening his vocal chords until Stiles can barely understand him beneath the rumbling growls vibrating through his deep chest.  “Touch him Laura and—“

 

Delighted laughter, mocking and cruel echoes around them.  “Why can’t we all just get along?”

 

“Don’t say it.”  Stiles snaps, trying to ignore the chills that voice, that Godawful voice, brings out in him.  Swallows harshly, he can’t bear this, for Derek and Laura to be fighting over him.  He can see that Laura’s more controlled, only her eyes have shifted to that of a wolf in retaliation.   “Please.  You’ve only just found each other again.”

 

“I’m not going to let her kill you Stiles.  You’re not an animal that needs to be put down.  We can fight this.” Derek’s eyes flash wildly at him, an edge in his voice that has Stiles moving his hand.  Moving it to where Derek’s hangs between them, his shoulder and other hand pushing back against the door.  He brushes the tips of his fingers over the taut knuckles of Derek’s clenched fist in a tentative gesture of comfort and gasps in surprise when the wolf snatches it up and holds on tight, fingers entwining, claws scraping over sensitive skin.  Derek holds him like he’s never gonna fucking let go and that’s alright with Stiles.  So very alright. 

 

If he only had more time to explore this feeling between them.  Regret leaves a sour taste in his mouth at all the time he’d wasted being angry and afraid.

 

Stiles can barely hear.  There’s a noise in his ears, gradually getting louder and louder, it’s the rushing jet-engine whine of strong winds, a thousand of them winding up and deafening him.  If he’d ever dared to imagine what it felt like to be in a hurricane, he’s not been vivid enough, not given nature’s fury the respect it truly deserves.  It’s a fierce roar of energy, wild and uncontrollable and it’s battering against the door behind him and Stiles feels small and insignificant at the display of raw power as it pummels into him, bruising his spine, grateful that Derek has a hold of him, anchoring him in place.

 

“Yes we could fight it, but we won’t win.. it won’t let us.”  Stiles can feel the insistent demand of cold icy fingers probing at his mind painfully, searching for a way in.  He grits his teeth at the violation and shakes his head frantically trying to shift the very, very bad touch that makes his stomach twist and heave.  Bile rises up to his mouth and sits at the back of his throat burning acidly, threatening to erupt at any moment. 

 

Turbulent air swirls around them buffeting against his body, he can feel his hair ruffling with the movement, can see the way Laura’s longer hair lifts and twines around her head in long serpentine tangles.  With her eyes gleaming, bright gold at him, Stiles’ muscles freeze as though he’s truly found himself before the Medusa of myth and legend, the paralysis only ends freed by the barest nod of acknowledgement that she gives him.  She will keep her word although Stiles can see by her eyes that in her mind it will be an act of last resort.  If there is no way out.

 

Derek leans in close, his mouth against Stiles’ ear and the sensation even amidst all the roaring chaos has the power to make him shiver.  His fingers clutch at Derek’s hand even tighter.

 

“I don’t care.  We fight.  I’m not going to let this.. this thing have you.”  Derek snarls, his lips brushing over the rim of Stiles’ ear as he speaks.  Hot breath and rasping stubble against his sensitized skin has Stiles turning his head towards the wolf.  Derek’s eyes blaze at him with cool blue fire, insistent and demanding that he not give up.  It strikes him then that this isn’t him.  This thing is twisting his thoughts, warping who he is, because when has he given up, when has he not fought against the odds when logic demanded that he recognise they had no chance.  Never and he’s not about to start now. 

 

“Okay.”  He breathes out the word and the tightness around Derek’s eyes eases slightly.

 

Their lips are so close to touching, Stiles thinks he’d be lucky to slide a piece of paper between them.  A spark, generated by the magnetism between them, jumps the small distance and his mouth is tingling, electrified.  Instinctively, Stiles knows the only way to stop the burning is to feel those lips on his, they’d be so cool and wet, like a long drink of water.  He sighs with want, before nodding his head, tilting it the barest fraction of an inch.

 

“We fight.”  He agrees.  “And after..”  Stiles lets his voice trail off and licks his lips groaning softly as his tongue inadvertently grazes the wolf’s full lower lip and he can taste him.  Satisfaction rolls over him at Derek’s sharply drawn in breath and heated growl followed by a hissed out ‘Yes’.

 

“I do so love to play with wolves.”  Amusement drips from the voice on the other side of the door, cold and venomous.  “Such melancholy creatures, even more so when they lose something they consider their own.”

 

The rasping whisper is scarily clear over the whirling rush of noise that comes with the winds that push their way into the gap of the door and wreak havoc in Stiles’ room.  Posters rip from the walls, swirling in a turbulent vortex of air, dipping and fluttering wildly like crazed birds.  The desk lamp has long-since tipped over and it shines it’s light across the room to spotlight the wall opposite.  Paper flying about casts long shadows against the wall and it’s like some bizarre shadow puppet show and he can’t focus as too many things are darting in and out of his vision.  It’s easier to focus on the hand that’s still holding his so tightly yet carefully as though afraid of hurting him.

 

Derek jerks back, looking around at all the debris flying around the room and yells at Laura urgently. “What the hell is this thing?”

 

“Nothing good.”  She grunts as the door shudders under another assault and her feet slide an inch along the carpet.  “Whatever it is, this fucker’s strong.”

 

“Stiles.. when is a door not a door?”  The gleeful tone sends shudders down Stiles’ spine.  The way it says his name, like it knows him.. knows all his strengths, his weaknesses and all his secrets.  It terrifies him.

 

“A riddle?”  The puzzlement is all too clear on Derek’s face and Stiles can feel his own screw up as he tries to work out whether it’s a trick or not.  He knows this one.  Knows the answer, it’s an old riddle.  Very old.

 

“WHEN IS A DOOR NOT A DOOR?”  It demands and Stiles feels compelled to answer.  He struggles to keep it in, keep his lips pressed tight together, but unbidden it slips out.

 

“When it’s ajar.”  Stiles whispers, his eyes meeting Derek’s in bewilderment at the betrayal of his own lips.

 

“Clever kit.”  For one moment it sounds genuinely pleased with him and if Stiles had any vague notions of that being it, all this fear and terror being ended by answering one riddle he’s sorely disabused of that very quickly. 

 

“You and I, we could do so much together Stiles.”  It draws out the ‘s’ on the end of his name with a long sibilant hiss. 

 

“The door’s open, you just have to let me in and I promise to let your wolves live.. the one that’s actually alive anyway.  You could keep it.. it’s good for a kit to have a pet.  You could do all those things you’ve longed to, all those things you hunger for.. you could make him scream.”  Stiles can feel the heat burn in his cheeks as he listens to the vile suggestions, before the blood drains so rapidly from his head to somewhere near his feet that he feels light-headed with sheer horror.  Derek’s been tortured and abused before and for this thing to imply that he would ever.. ever want to do anything like that to the older man makes him want to retch violently.  He shakes in reaction, racking full body quakes that rock him on his heels and leave his knees feeling weak.

 

Derek lifts their joined hands and presses his lips passionately to Stiles’ knuckles and Stiles can’t not look at him, has to see the other man’s face.  Derek doesn’t remove his lips from the back of his hand, it’s like a burning brand and it sends his nerve endings spasming in delight.  There’s a softness mixed with determination in Derek’s eyes as he looks up at Stiles from under the long fringe of his dark lashes that lets Stiles know that it’s okay.. they are okay.  He leans in and rests his forehead against Derek’s for a second, taking and giving comfort, and the churning in his gut settles finally at the contact.

 

“I wouldn’t—“

 

“I know.”  Derek cuts him off and Stiles sighs in relief, his lips twitch in the barest flicker of a smile.

 

The winds roar and Stiles is slapped in the face with loose paper debris and he rubs his hand furiously over his face to pick it off.  It’s a stalemate.  Neither side willing to give up and Stiles wonders will he wake up this time when the clock ticks over to 4am or is he trapped in this brutal fight for everything that makes him who he is and to not become the Stilinski version of the ‘onsie’ for this nightmarish creature to wear.

 

“It’s a fox spirit.”  Laura says thoughtfully, with the noise around them Stiles almost doesn’t hear her.  Her forehead furrows in concentration.  “At first I thought it was calling you a ‘kid’, but it’s not it’s ‘kit’.. a young fox.”

 

“A Kitsune?”  Stiles shouts at the woman by his side.  “Hey, I watch ‘Supernatural’.”  He replies to the surprised quirk of Laura’s eyebrow that he knows what she’s talking about.

 

Laura’s yelling over the crashing, destructive sounds of the wind storm that rams into them over and over.  Her hair whips violently, flaying her cheeks red with the stinging strands. 

 

“Most Kitsune’s like riddles, puzzles and games.. games of strategy, but most of all they like to play tricks, usually playful not harmful generally unless you piss them off.. this thing though.. it feels like it would rip out your spine then ask you to dance for shits and giggles.” 

 

“Well my dance card’s full.  How about a raincheck?  In say.. like never.”  Stiles lurches forward when a powerful blow centres squarely on the door directly behind him, as though the creature knows exactly where he is within the room. 

 

Stiles’ skin crawls.

 

“Clever wolf, but not clever enough.”  It rasps, voice rising with its ire.  “I’m a thousand years old.. and you dog.. you think you know me, that you can beat me at my game.  YOU CAN’T BEAT ME.  I AM ETERNAL.”

 

Stiles holds his breath in shock.  He doesn’t think the creature’s lying about its age, there’s something in the cock-sure voice like it doesn't need to that sends shivers down his spine.  A thousand year old fox spirit wants inside one Stiles Stilinski and not in a good way.

 

“Let me in Stiles.. let me in.. we belong together you and I.  You know it.”  It croons its vile seduction

 

“NO.”  Stiles shouts in desperation.  Hates that he sounds so weak.  “Who are you?”

 

“Not who am I.. who are we Stiles.  We are the perfect combination.  Chaos and strife.   Pain and discord.  Let me in and I can show you what a beautiful complex mind you have, no more Adderall needed Stiles.. no more fear of becoming like your mother.. Let me in.. Let me in.. LET ME IN.”  It was getting louder and angrier.  Each word was seething with rage, with a fury that was terrifying to hear and to know that it was directed at him raised a confusing blend of emotions deep within Stiles.  Terror mixed with crippling anxiety, afraid for himself but most of all afraid for all those he holds dear, and ultimately a sense of outrage.  It was pissing him off.  What had he done to draw this thing to him?  Nothing, but tried to save the lives of his Dad and the parents of his friends.

 

The rage bubbling within him is ready to overflow, until it bursts out of him sharp and sudden.  Stiles tips his head back against the door and bangs it hard against the wooden panel, savouring the throbbing ache at the back of his skull.  He looks to the ceiling and grinds out harshly.  “Why me?  What do you want from me?”

 

“EVERYTHING.”  It growls fiercely, drawing the word out in a distorted echo.

 

“Yes Stiles.”  Derek frowns at him, thoughtfully.  “Why you?  Why does it want you in particular when Scott and Allison both went through the same ritual?”

 

An incredible stillness sweeps over him, like a computer shutting down all non-essential systems and diverting all power towards the core.  In his case, it’s his body re-routing everything so his brain doesn't get distracted, so he can assess what Derek’s implying, letting him completely ignore all the noise and chaos in his room.  Why him? Three people that went through the ritual of sacrifice and this thing has honed on him like a scud missile, targeting him persistently, relentlessly.

 

“They’re both having some hallucinations, but nothing like my dreams, and Scott’s control is slipping, but I think that’s more because Allison’s not his anchor anymore than a direct effect of the sacrifice.”  Stiles can feel his mind running over all the variables as he talks it through, all the connections and when he sees the way Derek’s eyebrow lift he nods his head at him in understanding.

 

“Because you’re a spark.”  Laura pipes up and Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin as he’d almost forgotten she was next to him so caught up in his silent conversation with Derek’s eyebrows.  “I saw what you did with the mountain ash at the rave.  It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

 

Derek nods his head in agreement.

 

“Stiles I think this spark of yours it draws the supernatural to you as a person.. much like Deaton said the nemeton does for Beacon Hills as a location.”  Stiles shakes his head in denial at Derek’s words.  There’s no way he’s got anywhere near the type of power that would cause that.  He’s just a human.  That thing at the rave was just a whole heap of luck.. faith, trust and pixie whatever.

 

“Nah.. I don’t think so.  I managed to get through the first 16 years of my life without encountering any woo-woo stuff.”  He waves his fingers in the air to emphasize the point.

 

“Puberty is often a kick-start for a lot of things in both the human and supernatural world.”  Laura says.  “Wolves generally gain control of their instincts, their shifts mid to late teens.  It would make sense that your abilities wouldn’t emerge until then.”

 

“That day I first met you in the woods.  I felt you before I heard you and Scott, it was like I was drawn to that clearing.  At the time I’d just buried—“  Derek stops and bites his lip before haunted eyes lock with his sister’s.  Laura nods at him encouragingly.  “At the time so much was going on and I knew Scott was a wolf and the territory was under threat so I didn’t put it together then, but the pull I was feeling.. the tug in my gut.. it was to you Stiles.  It was to you.”

 

“Oh.”  Stiles can feel dismay wash over him like a great big tsunami of ‘I knew it was too good to be true’.  He closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on not letting his chest hiccup from the bands of disappointment that cinch around him tighter and tighter.  Damn it.. he’s not going to cry.

 

“Stiles?”  Derek’s voice is anxious in his ear and Stiles scrabbles at his hand trying to pry his fingers loose from the other man’s tight clasp without success.  “Stiles.. look at me, please.  What’s wrong?”

 

Stiles snorts.  What’s wrong?  Everything.  Knowing that Derek’s drawn to him because of some freaky mystical crap, some douchy power that draws the supernatural who’s who, or rather what’s what after him, instead of liking him for who he is, it’s a blow.. a low blow and a painful ache settles deep in the core of him.  For one brief moment he’d thought.. God he’s so stupid.

 

“Idiot.”  Laura snaps.  “You basically just implied that you’re only drawn to him because of his spark.”

 

“No.”  Derek sounds truly horrified.  “Never.  It’s not your spark that I fell in lo—“  Stiles’ eyes snap open and he feels the weight that had settled within his chest lift, almost taking flight at what Derek’s implying.  Derek’s eyes are wide and human, his mouth pulled into a small ‘O’ of surprise.  Flaming red colour is bright and all too visible as it rises rapidly up his throat to stain his cheeks and ears darkly.  He looks so adorably embarrassed that Stiles can’t stop the way his mouth stretches so broadly that his cheeks bulge almost painfully and he’s pretty sure he’s looking like a jacked-up chipmunk, but he doesn’t care because Derek loves him.

 

“It’s okay I ‘luh’ you too.”  Stiles doesn’t hesitate, hears the little snicker that Laura makes, but can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the way Derek’s face relaxes, the tension falling away and he smiles.  It’s so sweet and tender that Stiles can feel himself instantly going all gooey-eyed over it.  He is gone.. so gone on this man. 

 

“You can’t save him Stiles.. only I can.  Just let me in.”  The voice entices him with every word and Stiles can feel himself sway, beguiled.  He shakes his head trying to clear it of the temptation.  It knows his weakness, that he would do whatever it takes to keep Derek safe.  There was no way he was going to succumb.  If this thing wants his spark it’s going to have to come and get it unless.. unless he went to it.  If he took the fight to it by going through the door.  Excitement pours through him at the thought.  How did he get to his spark though and what the hell does it even look like.. Holy crap.

 

The human and both wolves reel back as a bright blinding light floods through Stiles’ bedroom like it’s gone nuclear.  It lights up every corner and chases away every shadow.  Stiles instinctively holds out his free hand and with a sucking swoosh the light draws in on itself, tighter and tighter, until it’s compressed into a ball of crackling white energy.  Lightning dancing upon the palm of his hand.

 

Static charge races over the surface of his skin with a loud snapping crackle, electrifying the hairs across his body so they are all standing on end, he could be in a Junior High science experiment.  The energy ball hums with life and Stiles looks into the heart of it and it feels like he’s free-falling, his mind connecting with a mystical power that he somehow amazingly possesses.  Knowledge and understanding punch through all the limitations and laws of physics he believed existed in the universe and it’s freeing and disarming in a way he’d never known before that literally anything was possible.  He looks either side and can see that both Laura and Derek are entranced by the orb, their eyes are glowing white and Stiles doesn't need to see them to know his are as well.

 

Laura reaches up and holds her fingertip just above the surface of the energy ball.  A  small bolt of electricity jumps across the divide.  She shivers, her back bowing and mouth gaping wide as power streams into her.  Stiles watches as she rises off the floor a couple of inches.  Derek holds Stiles' free hand, but doesn’t even attempt to reach out to the ball.  Just as suddenly as it appears, the energy ball winks out of existence like it had never been.  Stiles drags his palm down his thigh, letting the cotton of his pyjama bottoms rub the tingling itch that sits there.

 

“LET ME IN.. LET ME IN.. LET ME IN..”  The voice is enraged and insistent.  Stiles ignores it as do the Hales. 

 

“It was your spark that tried to draw me in before, not the kitsune.”  Laura says, both feet firmly on the floor.  “I recognise the energy.”

 

“Why does it want you?”  Derek asks, his mouth pale and thin-lipped in his white face.

 

“Because it knew I was the only way to stop Stiles from being possessed.. from becoming a monster.”  Stiles nods in agreement, from what he’d understood when he’d been connected to his spark.  It wasn’t like he’d read its mind or anything like that, it was different, Stiles had been inundated with impressions, concepts and ideas that weren’t remotely human.  

 

It was his spark, but not.  He could borrow it’s power and wield it, however, ultimately it belonged to something greater.. a higher power.. the universe, whatever you wanted to call it.  He understood that there was no right or wrong, good or evil.. to his spark there was only balance.  One deed counteracted by an opposing one.  To a certain extent his spark had a ruthless practically to it.  A survival instinct that was unerring and determined not to be captured and misused by a dark fox spirit which would so radically alter the balance between one side and the other that it could take generations to recover.  It had latched on to whatever it could to stop that from happening.  It had latched onto Laura.

 

“I can’t let you do this.”  Stiles rasps out. 

 

“It’s not your choice.”  Laura pushes herself upright from the door and moves to where Derek’s braced against it still.  Tipping up onto her toes she presses her lips to his, hard and fast, dodging her brother’s free hand that tries to grasp onto her, but without her strength Derek struggles to hold the door, his feet sliding back.  “I’m dead brother, but you’re not.  Don’t fuck this up ‘cause he’s got the big sis’ seal of approval and I want you to live a long and happy life.”

 

“Laura.. what are you saying?  What are you doing?  Laura..”  Derek growls and whines low in his throat.  Fear pinching his face, his lips turn down at the corners and Stiles aches to see him suffer.

 

“Don’t.”  Stiles begs.  He can’t do this.  “We can find another way.”  Laura smiles at him and shakes her head, he recognises that smile.  It’s not her usual smirk or mischievous one that bodes ill for any who see it, for the first time he sees it’s the same sweet one as Derek’s that curves her lips.  She bends down and whispers in his ear.

 

“Stand by him, love him.. don’t you dare leave him Stiles, even if he tries to push you away he needs you as much as you need him or I’ll come back and kick your ass.”  Her soft cheek brushes against his as she kisses him gently on the mouth, her lips lingering before she draws away and Stiles can feel his eyes sting as a tear wells over his eyelid and runs down his cheek.  Laura captures the drop on one finger.  As she examines the shimmering moisture, her eyes turn ghostly silver and the drop that had balanced on her fingertip falls to splash on the floor as it passes through her non-corporeal body. 

 

She’s a ghost once more.

 

“Laura.”  Stiles chokes out her name as she stands back.  The gap is pushed wider without her strength to hold it back and she stands looking into the void.  Her face inscrutable.  There’s a glow to her that she didn’t possess before and Stiles recognises it as part of his spark that she absorbed into her spirit from the ball of energy. 

 

He wishes he didn’t know what was happening.  Wishes that he was ignorant of what was to come like Derek, but the spark had shared too much information and Stiles knows it all.  He knows why she’s the perfect vessel for his spark.  How its weaponized her into a mystical bomb, by throwing herself into the darkness knowing that the lure of the spark inside her will draw in the fox spirit, it won’t be able to resist, but without a physical body with the necessary grounding lifeforce to possess and to harness the energy that is from the earth plane and not the spirit world it will become unstable and.. boom.  Literally fucking BOOM.

 

“NO.”  Derek cries out. 

 

“YOU CAN’T KILL ME.”  The thousand year old fox spirit screams.  Stiles can hear an edge of uncertainty where there had been none before and..  he can’t.  He lurches forward arms outstretched to hold her back and his hand flails straight through her mid-section.

 

“Wanna bet motherfucker.”  Laura cries out in cocky defiance, looks over her shoulder and winks at Stiles and Derek before launching herself into the other side and disappears instantly into the oozing blackness of the void.  Stiles drags himself painstakingly along the door and stands at the opening, the winds pulling and clawing at him trying to drag him in.  He strains his eyes to try and see, but there’s nothing.  It’s beyond black, it is nothing.  A vast emptiness.  Derek pulls on his arm and hauls him back from the edge.  He’s yelling and Stiles is yelling back and he doesn’t know what they’re saying to each other, can’t hear the words, physically he’s not hurt, but something deep inside him feels kinda broken.

 

The winds howl louder and the door rattles and bangs against them violently, even with Derek’s werewolf strength he gets knocked back making him stumble, before it abruptly slams shut making Stiles jump and everything is so suddenly still and quiet it almost hurts his ears to not hear anything.  Loose paper flutters to the floor and his window blinds rattle to a stop.

 

Stiles looks towards Derek and wonders if he looks as shell-shocked as the wolf does.  He starts to shiver.  Uncontrollably.

 

Something’s coming.  He may not be able to see or hear it, but it’s big and displacing the very air as it moves forward so that he can feel it against his skin from head to toe like a vibration.  Closer and closer.

 

“Get down” He yells at Derek, launching himself at the wolf and pushes him to the floor, covering him when a bright light glows around the edge of his bedroom door, brighter and brighter.  A violent booming percussion of sound rocks the room like a million stun grenades all going off at the same time.

 

All of Stiles’ senses are overwhelmed and he can feel the hard body of the wolf beneath him.  He can’t hear or see properly and he’s so dizzy, like he’s been spun around and around like a spinning top, his body going one way and his brain the other.  It’s a miracle he’s not throwing up all over the wolf.

 

Black creeps up on the edges of his vision and Stiles fights it, fights it with all he has because he needs to be there for Derek, but the last thing he hears before the creeping darkness crashes down on him is the soul-crippling howl of a wolf in distress.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The destruction of the evil fox spirit brings with it repercussions that no one saw coming, least of all Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your kind concern regarding my friend's health. Special thanks to FiccinDylan and Shannara810.
> 
> My writing has taken a bit of a backseat while these issues are going on, but I finally got my act together and worked on this final chapter. 
> 
> In other fics I have created Hale family members who passed away in the fire, so as I do like a reasonable amount of continuity even if fics aren't linked directly I will use these names. Diana - Derek's sister/Cora's twin, Daniel - Derek's younger brother, Nathan - Derek's Uncle.
> 
> Thank you for all the kind comments and kudos - very much appreciated.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

It’s the heat and the light that wakes him first.  Stiles’ cheeks are warm and he feels sleep-flushed from head to toe, pinkish filtered light penetrates the thin delicate skin of his closed sticky eyelids.  That there’s no darkness is a relief, which he supposes could be taken in a very metaphysical sense as well, he can’t feel the oppressive weight in his heart that he’d been carrying around for what feels like forever.  A weight carved out of ice, the lasting painful remnant of his sacrifice in a bath of frigid water.  The contrast from that to now is so stark that it’s almost painful.  Right now, he’s snug and cosy, but most of all he feels safe. 

 

Not having actually woken up to daylight in a very long time is a change both welcome and confusing.  With his face smooshed into the velour couch cushion, the first thing Stiles sees when his eyes flutter open is the shattered wooden remnants of the oak table neatly gathered into a pile in the middle of the floor.  An abandoned broom leans against the window through which golden beams of daylight stream across the open loft to where he lies on the couch, falling across the lower half of his body, bathing him in warm sunshine. 

 

Derek is nowhere in sight.

 

With his heart trip-hammering away in his chest, Stiles jerks upright and the soft woollen blanket draped over him slips from his shoulders and pools in folds of forest green in his lap.  Reason and logic tell him that all the evidence suggests that Derek’s okay, but something fragile and fearful deep inside him can’t and won’t believe it until he sees the wolf for himself.

 

“Stiles?”  His name echoes urgently through the open space, Stiles twists looking around the loft, trying to find the source.  Fingers clawing deep into the cushion beneath him, trying to hold on to reality, afraid he’s going to shatter into a million pieces if he doesn’t see the wolf soon.

 

“Derek.”  Stiles calls back, fear and adrenalin drawing the other man’s name out, high and strained.  From behind he hears the rapid patter of bare feet on the polished concrete floor.  Turning, he peers over the back of the couch and sees the other man running from the open doorway that leads to the kitchen.  Derek’s half-shifted and his claws are out as he skids to a stop on the other side of the couch.

 

“Stiles?”  Derek scans the room, eyes flashing, nostrils flaring wildly, alert to any danger.  The tension in his shoulders eases slightly as there’s nothing obviously threatening.  “Are you okay?  Your heartbeat went crazy there.”

 

The moment he sees him a shuddering sigh of relief passes Stiles’ lips and the totally illogical nightmarish thought that maybe, just maybe Derek was still trapped in his head is dispelled and he slumps over, forehead resting on the top of his drawn-up knees.  He doesn’t need anyone to tell him this is real and not a dream, he’s already counted his fingers twice. 

 

Somehow they’ve survived facing an evil older and more powerful than any they’d ever encountered before and it’s all because of Laura.  Guilt burns like acid through his veins when Stiles thinks of her.  It leaves him hollowed out.  Skin feeling tight, too stretched, almost paper-thin, trying to contain the churning rush of emotions that course through him defying all his attempts to analyse them.  His whole body feels abraded, scraped raw inside and out by loss, leaving a fragile husk behind.

 

The gentle touch of familiar fingers on his arm makes his core twitch and shiver, Stiles’ limbs tremble uncontrollably and his breath hitches wildly.  His skin is hungry for more, wanting a heavier, more possessive touch that will sink through all the layers and down to the bone, anchoring him in the here and now.  Tilting his head, Stiles cracks open one eye to blearily focus on the man now beside him.

 

There’s such a confused mish-mash of feeling in Derek’s mesmerizing kaleidoscope eyes that Stiles is overwhelmed trying to decipher each and every one.  The grief and hope he sees there hurts and yet fills him with pride in the wolf that he’s so strong and never waivers, stubbornly and defiantly carrying on when everything is surely telling him to stop and curl up, allow himself to wither away into nothing.  The warmth of feeling.. the way Derek looks at him like he’s infinitely precious, like he’s everything he ever wanted is harder to cope with. 

 

How did he ever deserve this man?   Does he really care?  Derek’s his now just as much as Stiles belongs to the wolf and whether he deserves to be with him or not Stiles can’t deny himself this, can’t deny how much Derek means to him.  They’ve been through too much not to recognise something so good, something so right and to let it slip by.  It’s one of the many harsh lessons he’s learned recently and Stiles Stilinski is not frequently referred to as a ‘quick learner’ by the education system for nothing.  He conveniently forgets it’s often tacked on with ‘needs to stay on task and prone to obsession’ too.

 

Stiles awkwardly throws himself at the other man, arms flailing wildly, elbows poking out dangerously, before stubbornly clinging to him like a monkey.  Their chests smash together hard as Derek rocks back onto his heels from where he’s kneeling beside the couch.  Easily propping Stiles up, his large hands sprawl over his back, stroking the length of it comfortingly and **_there’s_** the weighty touch of ownership he was hungry for.  The warmth of it traces up and down his spine and he can’t help the little noise of satisfaction he makes.  The squeaky whine seems to appeal to Derek on a primal level, as he nudges their heads together chuffing soothingly in response before a low rumbling noise rapidly swells and fills the air.  He doesn’t care whether it’s PC or not, he wants it.  Wants it bad and can only hope that the older man feels it in the same way, because as far as Stiles is concerned he’s not letting go anytime soon.  Maybe never.

 

With his face pressed into the wolf’s collarbone Stiles inhales deeply and lets the familiar masculine scent of fragrant cedar and crushed pine needles that is pure Derek, settle into his very lungs.  The other man is running his nose over his cheek and jaw, nuzzling into a spot behind his ear that he never knew was so sensitive.. so tingly.  It makes Stiles shiver uncontrollably, his skin rippling with a charged wave of goosebumps that travel from his scalp down his arms, chest and back.  It’s so powerful that his toes curl unbidden with pleasure.

 

“Stiles.”  Derek whispers his name reverently over and over as his arms hold him tighter and tighter until he can feel his ribs creak and it’s almost too hard to breathe, but Stiles doesn’t ask him to stop, revels in the fiercely possessive embrace and returns it in kind.

 

“Derek.”  Stiles chokes out as he lifts a hand and cups that beloved face, fingers and thumb stroking over the stubbled cheeks and jawline, the rasp sending an electric current of arousal straight to his dick and it throbs achingly as it fattens in the tight fit of his chinos.  Derek growls softly, a rumbling sound of contentment and need vibrating in his chest and it passes through into Stiles’ where they are pressed so tight together.  “I thought I’d have to fight you on this.”

 

“This?”  Derek says into his temple, warm breath stirring Stiles’ hair.  “Me and you?”

 

Stiles nods.  Derek presses his mouth against him in a light kiss before gently drawing back to look into his face. 

 

“Yesterday I would’ve and I would’ve given you any number of excuses.. you’re too young, I’m too old, you deserve more, I don’t deserve you, it was the heat of the moment.”  He pauses for one moment and places his hand over the top of Stiles’ that still cups his face, holding it there.  Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but Derek continues smiling gently. 

 

“And they’re all true, but you told me you love me and God knows I love you.  I’ve been feeling it for a while and when Cora and I left—“  He sighs brokenly.  “Even when I thought you didn’t want anything to do with us.. with me anymore, I missed you so much.  I can’t deny how I feel about you any longer Stiles.. truth is I don’t want to.  Laura sacrificed herself for us and if I don’t at least try then I’m dishonouring what she did.”

 

Stiles throws himself forward, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders, clutching at him with trembling fingers and breathing his comforting scent in.  He can’t deny he’s shaken.  Hearing Derek say he loves him is more than he’s ever dared dream of and considering all of the reasons why the other man has held himself back points to such low self-esteem that Stiles is aching with the need to prove how wrong he is.

 

“Kiss me.”  Stiles slides off the couch and into Derek’ lap.  He’d laugh if he wasn’t so turned on right now at the way Derek’s eyes have gone big and round with a lapful of Polish awesomeness.  “Please.”  He begs in a voice so low and full of promise that he gives **_himself_** the shivers.   Derek cups the back of his head and slowly lowers his mouth to Stiles’. It’s excruciating and he can feel his breathing get faster and faster in anticipation the closer he gets and.. ladies and gentlemen, this is mission control – we have contact.

 

God almighty, Derek’s killing him, killing him with his lips.  It’s not the hard press or crushing nipping kisses he’d expected, nooo.. ‘cause maybe he could’ve dealt with that, just let himself get swept away with the rush of heat and pushed back, matched it.  This is something else entirely, Derek holding his head with one large palm, controlling him effortlessly and merely brushing his lips back and forth against his.  They’re barely parted, but so soft and warm, rubbing over and over.  There’s not even any tongue and yet Stiles is melting, he can feel a light sheen of sweat break out across his body, can feel his dick swelling painfully in his pants at the gentle friction.  His hands slip weakly from Derek’s shoulders, sliding heavily down his broad chest and delighting at the very responsive shiver that draws out of the wolf, to land in his lap, knuckles brushing against the rock hard abs beneath Derek’s navy blue Henley.  Stiles feels it like a jolt of electricity through his hands and into his body and that’s it, that is really fucking it.  

 

Surging forward he crushes his mouth against Derek’s muttering wildly.  “Come on Derek.. come on.”

 

His tongue flickers out to swipe over the wolf’s full lower lip and Derek gasps in response and Stiles pushes his way into his mouth and.. God, the taste of him.  Senses overloaded, the sweet mint of toothpaste and rich coffee spill onto his tongue and he would worry about morning breath, but Derek doesn’t seem to be the least bit concerned, not with the way his own tongue rubs and pumps back into Stiles’ mouth. 

 

It’s hot and frenzied and Stiles rocks his hips feeling something thick and hard beneath him that makes his hole pulse and clench hungrily.  Derek clutches at him tighter and tighter, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, one hand sliding down to cup his ass and squeeze it firmly in a move so blatantly possessive that Stiles can feel a gut-wrenching pulse of pre-come ooze wetly out of the tip of his dick.  Fear and excitement twine together into a heavy knot that sits in his belly expectantly, waiting for the moment to explode and his needy human body to unravel beneath the werewolf’s hands.

 

Stiles pulls back panting, their sweat-damp foreheads press together and he looks down between them and can see the outline of his hard cock pressing against the fabric of his pants.  It bulges prominently and Stiles feels a frisson of pride in the visible heft of it.  A small damp patch has soaked into the tan material, it looks almost wickedly obscene.  His attention is drawn away from his own body to the hard flat planes of Derek’s belly and he can’t help himself, would almost think he was under some magical compulsion, this overwhelming need to touch the wolf, to pet and stroke him till he’s writhing mindlessly.  Slender fingers rake over the grooves of Derek’s abs and Derek moans hoarsely.  Stiles drags the other man’s Henley out of the way, vaguely wondering why he can’t see sparks at the ends of his fingertips because they feel like they’re charged with electricity from the simple touch of smooth, hot skin and soft hair that starts at Derek’s navel, the lower he goes it becomes more coarse and wiry.  Hands shaking, Stiles plucks helplessly at the waistband of Derek’s sweatpants.

 

“Derek.”  He’s not above begging.  “Please.”  Begging seems to work, because the wolf’s shuddering against him and his chest is heaving, abs violently twitching beneath his fingers.  Derek puts one large hand over both of his and holds them tight to his belly, stilling their frantic movements.  The heat soaks deep into his skin, burning through the layers of his epidermis until it feels like he’s on fire.

 

“Stiles, stop please.”  Derek rasps, trembling uncontrollably.  “Slow down.”

 

Stiles shudders to a stop.  Is he doing it wrong?  He’s not had that much experience, but he hadn’t really thought it was possible.  He’d kinda hoped enthusiasm.. lots and lots of enthusiasm would get him over the line and negate his inexperience.  Obviously his fumbling attempts were seriously lacking.  Embarrassment and hurt well within him, heating his face.  Ducking his head he lowers his gaze, unsure where to look.

 

“Am I.. am I doing something wrong?”  Stiles whispers brokenly.  Derek snorts a rude sound and lifts his chin with his forefinger, forcing him to meet his eyes.  The expression on his face is scorching as he lingers on Stiles’ mouth, a stripe of furious red sits high on Derek’s cheekbones.  Nervous tension makes Stiles’ mouth go dry and he swipes his tongue over lips that feel swollen and raw.  Derek’s eyes glitter hotly following the flickering movement with an intensity that Stiles can feel to the very marrow and when he draws his lower lip in between his teeth, the wolf makes a strangled, choking noise that punches him low and hard in the gut.

 

“God no.. baby if you did anything more right I’m going to come in my pants.”  Stiles can feel his mouth gape slightly at the admission.  Doesn’t know what pleases him more, the thought that he’s driving Derek wild to the point he’s gonna come like that or that he’s called him ‘baby’.  Yet another flush rises rapidly up his chest and neck to settle in his cheeks, his pulse throbs heavily in his throat from the rushing surge of blood.  He’d never thought he’d be into cutsie nicknames or anything like that, but hearing the endearment from Derek’s lips feels good.

 

“Then..”  He manages to curl his fingers slightly beneath Derek’s and his nails scrape lightly into the wiry hair, low on his groin.  The wolf quivers, groaning harshly, and presses Stiles’ hand into his flesh harder and he can feel the jerk of Derek’s rock hard cock into his ass cheeks and he grinds down into it pointedly.  “Why?”

 

Derek doesn’t answer for a long moment, his mouth slightly parted as he frantically pants his way to regaining control over his bucking hips.  Eventually the heavy thrusts against his ass are little more than shallow pulses, small flexes of the wolf’s iron-hard shaft that make his balls ache. 

 

“I want this.. us, to be different.  To do it right.”  Derek says shyly, the fan of his long lashes flutter up and down as he looks to where their hands are pressed against his body so tightly not meeting Stiles’ eyes.  “Do you know I’ve never even been on a date?  It’s always been secretive.. hidden away in shadows and back seats of cars.  Hook ups that wouldn’t have stood up to the light of day.”

 

Stiles’ brain whizzes through so many thoughts and questions, some of them wildly inappropriate.. alright a lot of them wildly inappropriate, he doesn’t even know where or how to begin.  

 

“What about Paige?”  He asks eventually.

 

“We were only fifteen and her Dad was super-strict.  She wasn’t meant to have a boyfriend at all.. said it was too distracting that she needed all her focus to get into Julliard.  So we had to sneak around.. a lot.”   Derek grimaces, the skin around his eyes tight and a shadow falls across his face at the bitter memory.  “God I wish we hadn’t been so good at it.”

 

Stiles nods thoughtfully, trying to stifle the melancholy pang tinged with jealousy that pricks at his conscience when he thinks about Derek’s first girlfriend.  They were too young and hormone fuelled to go beyond making out when they had the opportunity, even though he’s pretty sure the teenagers had genuine feelings for one another, unlike Kate and Jennifer, the other women in Derek’s life.  They both would’ve only been interested in using sex to control him and to get what they wanted from the wolf, not taken the time to get to know him as would happen in any normal loving relationship.  It makes him feel sad.  He doesn’t know about Derek’s history in New York, but when he thinks back to the young man he first met in the woods and how angry and suspicious he was, even taking into account he’d just buried Laura he can’t imagine Derek relaxing his guard enough to actually date someone.

 

“So you want to date me?”  Stiles asks, disbelief pitching his voice higher than normal.  Derek’s cheeks puff out slightly as he slowly releases a huffing sigh, before smiling so sweetly that Stiles is helpless before it.  It’s his fucking kryptonite and he can deny the man nothing and if he wants to take it slow he’ll do it, his balls throb unmercifully as if to let him know how much they begrudge the notion.  Although, as much as he wants Derek with everything he is, there’s a small part that’s kinda relieved too, because even though he frequently throws himself into the deep end he wants to do this right, the other man’s too important to him not to.  He smirks ruefully.  Hopefully, his Dad’s health insurance is up to scratch, because he strongly suspects that he may just end up with carpal tunnel over the next couple of months and how’s he meant to explain that?  He doesn’t think that ‘relieving tension’ would be well-received.

 

“Yes, I want to date you.”  Derek leans in and rubs his nose affectionately against Stiles’.  “I want to take you to the movies and kiss you in the back row, I want to go out to dinner and just talk, I want to steal kisses in the kitchen while we’re cooking.. I want it all Stiles.. picnics, holding hands, bowling, hanging out on my couch.. I want all of that, but most of all I want it with you.”

 

Stiles’ can feel the rapid thrum of his heart knocking against his ribcage.  Now that he’s heard what Derek wants, he wants it too.  Craves it, with every part of him.  He can picture it all too clearly in his head and after all the death and crap that they had gone through, the apple pie domesticity of it all is like a shining beacon of rightness, but more than that it’s the notion of simply being together.

 

“Bowling huh?”  He leans in and brushes his lips against Derek’s.  Back and forth, relishing the friction.  “You sure know how to sweet talk a guy Mr Hale.”

 

“You should see my curve ball.”  Derek boasts as he smiles into the smattering of kisses that Stiles is gradually pecking across his mouth, cheeks and chin.

 

“Ooh talk dirty to me.”  Stiles laughs delightedly, startling as Derek groans wildly and surges at him.  His mouth is suddenly crushed hotly beneath his wolf’s and he can’t laugh anymore as he tastes the other man’s hungry yearning and it ignites a fiery ache in the pit of his stomach. 

 

Shakily, Derek draws back leaving him open-mouthed and reeling in shock.  “I love hearing you laugh, want to make it a part of me.. all the time.”

 

Stiles reaches up and cups the other man’s too-handsome-for-word’s face in both hands, shivering at the prickling abrasion of stubble over his palms.

 

“And when—“ Stiles begins hesitantly.  “I can.. I mean.. we can..”

 

Thankfully Derek seems to get where he’s heading even if Stiles isn’t too sure himself.  “When we’re ready.. both of us ready, we can go further.  For now I'd really like to get to know you better, beyond knowing you have outrageous research skills or can swing a bat like you're in the world series.” 

 

Derek’s eyes may flash cool blue at him, but Stiles feels nothing but heat as his mind wanders forward to a time when they’re both on the same page.  He gulps desperately trying to push oxygen into his lungs and those images out of his head because there lies awkward boners, sticky underwear and unbearable frustration.  Derek drops a swift kiss on his parted lips.

 

“I’d better get you home before your Dad starts to wonder where we are.”

 

Stiles flinches as he looks across to the windows and realises how late in the morning it actually is.  Holy crap.  His Dad’s gonna kill him. 

 

Derek’s hands weigh heavy on his shoulders as he shakes him slightly.  “Don’t panic.  I rang him early this morning before he would’ve gotten home to let him know you were here.” 

 

“What?”  Stiles can literally feel his eyes bulging in shock as his mouth gapes slackly.

 

“Don’t worry I simply told him you’d swung by to see me when you’d heard I was back in town and fallen asleep on my couch.  I knew you wouldn’t want him to worry and I didn’t want to wake you when I suspect that’s the first decent sleep you’ve had in a while.”

 

“And he believed you?”  Stiles asks incredulously. 

 

“Oh yeah.”  Derek picks up Stiles’ phone from the coffee table and thumbs over the screen.  “Particularly when I sent him this.”

 

He flips it around and shows Stiles a picture of himself sprawled on the couch.  One arm flung back, curling around his head, the other one draped across his blanket-covered belly.  His mouth is pink and slightly parted, there’s a little shiny trail of drool seeping out of the corner.  Stiles lunges forward flailing wildly as he grabs at it, Derek holding the phone teasingly out of reach.

 

“Oh my God you.. I can’t believe you.  You know he’s still gonna interrogate us when we get home.”

 

Derek shrugs and hands Stiles his phone back. 

 

“I’m not going to lie about us Stiles and I’m not going to hide how I feel about you and make this something furtive and.. and shameful, hiding in dark shadows, and it’s not like that.. it’s not..”  Derek’s voice rises with his emotions, breath hitching jerkily and Stiles can feel his distress rasping against his senses and wraps his arms around him, hands stroking down his back before settling on the nape of his neck and scratching at the short hair soothingly with his nails. 

 

“What’s it like then?”  Stiles’ lips brush against Derek’s ear as he asks the question.  Derek’s hands clutch at his body fiercely, sliding down to his hips to grip them tight, holding him in place.

 

“It’s good.  So very good.”  Derek mutters harshly as he rubs his cheek against Stiles’ before pushing his face into the crook of his neck, scenting him deeply.  "It feels right."

 

“Yes it does.”  Stiles murmurs, his eyes widening as he feels a swirl of cool air ruffle over his hair.  He looks around frantically, searching the loft before glancing across to the windows and sees that Derek’s got one propped open and the hope that had momentarily risen is quickly extinguished by the feel of the warm breeze against his cheeks.

 

“Stiles?”  Derek starts to lift his head and Stiles gently pushes him back, fingers carding through Derek’s soft hair.

 

“It’s okay.”  He whispers.  “I’m sorry you didn’t get to spend more time with Laura.”  Derek nods from where he’s buried his face into Stiles’ throat. 

 

“Me too.”  Stiles feels the words, humid against his flesh and tightens his hold around Derek’s broad shoulders.  For a long time they simply hold each other and it’s so safe and warm in his boyfriend’s embrace that Stiles can feel himself sinking into it, deeper and deeper.  His eyelids droop with contentment, before they flutter open as that last thought suddenly impacts on his consciousness.

 

“Boyfriend.”  He mumbles thickly, tongue unwieldy around the word.  “ ** _MY_** boyfriend.”

 

“Yes and you’re mine.”  Derek says as he slowly gets to his feet easily dragging Stiles up.  Swaying before the other man, Stiles lets his hands slide from Derek’s wide shoulders, tracing over the bulging muscles of his biceps and down the taut cords of his forearms to entwine their fingers. 

 

They stand together, leaning in over where their hands are tightly clasped between them, to press a lingering kiss of such sweetness on each other’s mouth that Stiles’ chest swells, aching fiercely at the unspoken promise it holds.  A promise of more than love, it’s of trust too. 

 

It’s one he intends to keep.

 

 

The heavy, metal door to the loft slides closed with a loud clanging snick that echoes around the spacious main room.  Laura stares at it thoughtfully, mind racing a million miles an hour.  Everything’s changed and yet some things remain the same.  Some things, like standing in the sunlight wishing she could feel its warmth so it could banish the cool tingling in her fingertips, a bitter reminder of what she can no longer touch anymore. 

 

Normally, wherever Derek goes she’s hot on his heels, but today after what she’s just witnessed it doesn’t feel like he needs her like that anymore.  Maybe it’s more that **_she_** doesn’t need to be with him like that.  Not from lack of caring, God no, she loves him more than ever.  Is so proud of what he’s overcome, of the good man he is when by all rights he should be more like Peter.  Something dark, something twisted and bitter.

 

It’s because of Stiles.  Stiles will be the one to love and protect her brother.  He’ll be the one to stand by him whatever may come, good or bad, she has no doubt they’ll face it together and she’s okay with that knowledge because it feels right.  They feel right.  After all these months observing them it’s a shock to realise that they always have.  A weight deep inside her shifts, a release of tension unwinding so fast and so quick that she hiccups a couple of almost sobbing breaths and presses her fist to her mouth trying to hold it in.  Eventually, her ragged breathing steadies and her lips curve in a small smile.  Stiles will make sure that Derek has a good life.  A happy one.  The younger man has her brother wrapped around his little finger, not that he realises it, not yet anyway and when he does she’s not worried that he’ll abuse the trust Derek has in him.  He’s a good man too.

 

The only disappointment she has is that they can no longer see or hear her.  It curdles in her gut sourly.  Being with Derek, touching and talking with him again was a gift and she can only hope that he continues to look on it the same way and doesn’t regress.  Somehow, with Stiles in his life she doesn’t think she needs to worry.  Being all together in Stiles’ mind as they’d fought off the fox spirit was an unexpected joy in a place of such darkness that she has trouble associating the two in the same instance.

 

When she’d flung herself into the dark, it was with no regrets, it was like falling into a lake of tar.  Sucking her in, clinging to her spirit and trying to drag her down to a depth where she would be lost entirely, the essence of herself gone.  So she’d fought.  Fought hard, aware that something was approaching, something so foul that every instinct of self-preservation had screamed at her to run and hide.  Instead, she’d struggled to move towards it.

 

 

**_The thick, choking darkness parted revealing a shape.  It was walking upright, like a man, however, its movements weren’t even remotely human.  Limbs stiff and jerky, stilted stop start motions.  It reminds her of a show she’d seen once on reptiles, National Geographic or something like that, and how she’d watched mesmerized and partially repulsed by the very alien nature of the creatures with their unblinking stares and the too-still aura about them.   So very different to the warm exuberance of wolves that she was used to.  This thing felt like those creatures, cold-blooded and reptilian._ **

****

**_Bandaged heavily around the head and hands, the brown vintage leather jacket parting to reveal more wrapped around its torso, she can’t tell if they extend beyond the waistband of the tan trousers this bizarre mummy-like creature wears.  The bandages were torn and ragged around its mouth, black lips and stained sharp teeth visible.  It’s arms reaching out for her, smiling in a way that makes her skin crawl and bile rise hotly in her throat, Laura grits her teeth and throws herself forward, embracing it.  Wrapping her arms around it tightly, not willing to risk that somehow it might escape.  It holds her like a lover, tipping her back over its’ arm and whispering in her ear, voice a rasping hiss that scrapes over her nerves and has her screwing up her nose in disgust at the rotten taint on its breath._ **

****

**_“Little wolf.. you brought me a present.  I love presents, but most of all I love to open them.”  Mocking laughter, an off-key accompaniment to her cry of pain echoes in her ears as it pulls back its’ bandaged hand and thrusts it violently into her chest.  It rummages carelessly around inside her, chasing the warm glow of Stiles’ spark and leaving a chill so icy it burns._ **

****

**_“Bastard.”  Laura growls, fear and pain paralyse her as she looks down to where there’s an arm sticking out of her chest and the little chuckle of triumph it makes gives her strength and she struggles to pull away.  It’s not meant to be like this.  It shouldn’t be able to touch the spark._ **

****

**_Despair claws through her mind as it wrenches out the small ball of energy clutching it tightly in its' fist.  The pure white glow dulls turning a sickly yellow before a red as dark as blood slowly seeps across the ball's surface._ **

****

**_“NO.”  Laura screams out.  God, let this not be in vain.  The only hope she has is that the door to Stiles’ mind had closed firmly behind her moments ago and she can’t hear the desperate shouts of the two men who mean so much to her.  Please let it be that this monster can’t get in.  Can’t possess the young man she’s grown to care for like another brother._ **

****

**_“I can feel it.  The power.. the—“  It breaks off abruptly as the ball starts to throb and pulse in its’ hand.  It tries to shake it off, but it’s stuck there like its been superglued in place.  The perfectly round ball bulges obscenely, first one way and then another, like something underneath its surface is pushing outwards.. trying to find its way out.  Laura gasps as the energy spreads out like a creature from a 50’s movie matinee, the blob of sparking translucent energy oozing across the bandaged hand to wrap around it, encasing it from wrist to fingertip._ **

****

**_“WHAT IS THIS?”  The fox spirit rages, flicking its hand wildly in a bizarre parody of ‘jazz hands’.  “YOU THINK YOU CAN TRICK A TRICKSTER.  I HAVE LIVED FOR A THOUSAND YEARS.  YOU CAN’T.”_ **

****

**_“Just watch me fucker.”  Laura snarks in relief, her upper lip curls and she can feel her fangs have dropped._ **

****

**_The energy stubbornly clings and as she watches, Laura can see it spreading rapidly, rolling over the vile thing’s form.  Desperately wrenching herself free Laura falls, watching fearfully as the crackling ooze swallows up the creature, enclosing it in an impenetrable blood red bubble, lightning bolts sizzle across the surface and she can taste ozone in the air.  She wants to puke when she sees a thick tentacle of power push its way past black lips and jagged teeth, choking off the thing’s loud screams.  When the kitsune is completely covered in the glowing flow it starts to convulse, back arching so far that she can hear the loud crack as its spine snaps._ **

****

**_The kitsune starts to radiate light and heat from its’ core, brighter and brighter.  Streams of light burst from its’ fingertips, feet and mouth.  Limbs shaking and trembling so violently that they are a blur to her squinting, straining eyes.  Turning away, Laura struggles back through the molasses of darkness knowing that it’s too little, too late.  The booming percussion of noise and unleashed energy picks her up in a red rolling wave and flings her around like a doll.  The power thrumming through her is shattering.  The awareness of being torn apart is terrifying for one agonizing moment until a strange peace settles in her for the final nano-seconds of cognizant thought before she feels every molecule of her spirit being broken down and scattered until finally, blessedly she knows no more._ **

 

Waking up curled at the other end of the couch from a lightly snoring Stiles had been weird.  Weird in that she didn’t know how she’d escaped a metaphysical blast of pure energy that had disintegrated her into floating atoms.  Weird in that when Stiles woke up he didn’t see or hear her anymore.  Weird in that ever since she’d been a ghost she didn’t wake up anymore because she didn’t sleep.

 

“How did I survive?”  Laura wonders aloud.  It’s a puzzle and she’s gotta helluva lot of time to try and work it out.

 

“You sacrificed yourself and even though you didn’t ask I think the universe recognised it owed you a favour.”  The feminine voice is soft and low in pitch and it pierces Laura’s heart like an arrow.  She knows that voice.  Knows it well.  Trembling, she turns around.

 

“Mom.”  Is that her voice?  That tremulous quivering sound that belongs more to a little girl than a grown woman.  Salt blooms on her tongue and Laura realises that she’s crying.. when did that happen?  Tears slowly trickling down to the corners of her mouth and seeping between her lips.  Blinking rapidly, she can barely see the other woman through the prickling sting of tears, but she recognises those brown eyes that glow with such love and pride as they watch her.  Would know them anywhere.

 

With a shaking hand she reaches out before quickly drawing it back in, curling a fist into her chest.  There’s no way that she could bear the pain of not being able to touch her, of seeing her hand move through her. 

 

“We’re the same sweetheart, you can touch me.”  Talia Hale smiles and opens her arms.  “It’s time to come home Lorelei.” 

 

Hearing her Mom’s nickname for her, the result of a 4 year old Laura haughtily declaring she would much rather be a mermaid than a werewolf, is too much.  A sob bursts out of her mouth and she’s moving.. moving forward and feeling those arms wrap around her, the ones that had always felt so safe and strong.  Drawing in a deep breath Laura can scent her Mom and the rest of the pack, her family, on her skin and in her Mom’s favourite blue button down shirt she wears.  Quivering uncontrollably, Laura pushes her face into her Mom’s throat.  The stroke of a tender hand down the length of her hair is something she’d thought she’d never feel again and she whines uncontrollably like she hasn’t since she was a pup.

 

“Why now?  Why did you come for me now?”  Laura rasps out, her throat thick with emotion feeling the weight of her Alpha’s hand rest on the back of her neck once more.

 

“You know why sweetheart.”  Laura draws back and looks into the face so like her own, but that has so much more strength and beauty that when she was alive she’d often felt like a pale, poor reflection.  There was no way she’d ever lived up to being the Alpha that her mother is.  Dead or alive.  Talia Hale’s voice is calm and soothing as always, guiding her to the right answer.

 

She thinks back to that conversation with Stiles about ‘unfinished business’ and maybe he was right in some respects.  In her heart of hearts she’d felt that she’d failed Derek as his Alpha and maybe more importantly as his sister.  The need to protect her little bro had overpowered all other needs, even ones that involved the cycles of life and death.  That need wasn’t there any longer. Understanding washes over her like a cleansing rain casting aside doubt and confusion.

 

“Because I could finally let him go.”

 

Her Mom nods in agreement.  “I was so proud of you for staying.  Not wanting Derek to be alone.” 

 

Laura shakes her head in denial.  Shame drops her eyes to the floor.  “Don’t.  I was so lonely.. he couldn’t see or hear me and I changed my mind hundreds of times.. I called for you.. and for Dad.”

 

“I know Lor.”  Her Mom hugs her close and presses a kiss to her forehead.  “I was with you all the time, even in New York.”  Laura jerks back wildly, her eyes scanning her Mom’s face and seeing the truth there.  God, if she’d only known.  Was this how Derek had felt, a confusing mix of happy and sad, but most of all regret?  “But, when you crossed over.. you just weren’t ready to see me.”

 

“Oh Mom.”  Laura breathes out and clutches at her Mom, afraid to let go.  Afraid, that this is all a hallucination to torment her.

 

“It’s time.”  Her Mom grabs hold of her hand tight and they start to walk across the room to the huge gaping hole in the brick wall.  A warm golden glow shines from within and she can see shadows walking back and forth within the light, a couple of smaller ones jumping in what looks like excitement, it’s brighter than what she first thought and she can’t make out who they are, but a whine catches in her throat when she thinks about her younger brother and sister, Diana and Daniel.. her Dad and her Uncle Nathan’s family.  No longer lost to her by flames.

 

“Everyone’s here and I need to introduce you properly to a few others as well.. Erica, Boyd.. and Claudia is dying to meet you.”  At her daughter’s startled look, she gives Laura a little wink.  “Oops slip of the tongue.”

 

From behind Laura hears the Loft’s sliding door open.  Stiles leads Derek by the hand back into the room as he searches for something.  Laughing in triumph he pulls out his phone from the back of the couch cushions and waves it in the air.

 

“Couldn’t leave this behind.  How can I have phone sex with you without a phone?”  Stiles waggles his eyebrows lecherously at her brother and she can’t stop the twitch of her lips as she sees the way her brother swallows hard as his eyes go wide before sending the other boy a heated, slumberous look as he watches the younger man’s ass as he goes up the steps.

 

“They’re so meant to be together.”  Her Mom chuckles softly and Laura can only nod her head in agreement.  “My beautiful boy finally has someone who’ll make him very happy.”

 

“Will we be able to come and see them again?”  Relief pours through her when her Mom nods.

 

“Not all the time of course, it’s not how this works.  But maybe on special days.”  At Laura’s puzzled expression she continues.  “Weddings and babies.. that sort of thing.”

 

Laura can’t stop smiling, she’s pretty sure she must look really goofy, but thinking about Derek becoming a Dad is strange.  Strange, yet she has absolutely no doubt he’d be a great one considering how good he always was with the younger members of their pack.

 

“Goodbye.”  Laura calls out and to her amazement Derek stops and turns back.  Looking around the loft as though searching for something.  It’s obvious he doesn’t see or hear them, but it doesn’t stop her heart from speeding up.  A slow soft smile appears on his face and Derek gives a small nod, almost like in acknowledgement.

 

“Is everything okay?”  Stiles puts his hand on Derek’s shoulder, his voice serious with concern.  Derek reaches up and rests his hand on top, their fingers tangling together.

 

“More than okay.”  His eyes light up and little crinkles form at the corners as he smiles up at Stiles standing on the step above him.  “It’s perfect.”

 

Stiles’ grin is brilliantly wide as he swoops down and plants a swift kiss on Derek’s lips as he tugs him towards the door.  “Right answer, dude.”

 

“Don’t call me dude..”  Derek’s voice trails away as the heavy metal door is closed once more behind them.

 

Laura turns to her Mom who is standing by her and squeezes her hand still unable to believe that she’s really here.

 

“Ready to go home.”  Talia says softly and Laura nods, her heart thundering with excitement and anticipation. 

 

Together they step into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic Laura is a ghost which means most of the time she can't touch or be touched, can't be seen or heard. However, at certain times when she concentrates really hard she can touch someone or something with effect (think of Patrick Swayze in 'Ghost' learning to kick a can or move a penny). When Stiles first encounters Laura, because he's been left open to the supernatural by his sacrifice he can see and hear her, whereas Derek only sees or hears Stiles - even when Laura's banging on the cupboards with her boots only Stiles hears this. :D


End file.
